#I hate this and have tried to change it innumerable times but it's stuck

[chicago-geniza]

Terminal "won't do anything I don't want to" syndrome extends to...eating food which means I will straight-up starve or let myself get malnourished to the brink of scurvy if the only options are foods I don't like, so it's just. Constantly cajoling my brain and sneaking vegetables into its meals like you would for a picky toddler. Today this was some split bao with mushrooms & asparagus in a gluten-free soy marinade & cucumber salad with Szechuan chili oil. If there aren't six types of umami at once I will spit it out and throw it at the wall from my proverbial high chair

[the-bi-space-ace]

Alright strap in I’ve got Crosshair headcanons and thoughts and you are being subjected to them hi hello enjoy:

Really craves friendship. Wants friends more than anything but for the life of him has never been good at making them. Mostly bc his defense mechanism is to be mean to keep strangers at arms length. Choose to have them dislike you before they even get a chance to make that decision themselves. It’s hard to penetrate those defenses.

AND YET this man contradicts every word he says. He hates regular clones huh? Then explain Cody and Echo and Mayday to me Crossy. Explain them to me bro. You even like Rex when it’s all said and done and that man PUNCHED YOU IN THE FACE. Explain yourself Crosshair.

Is pretty quiet for the most part but when he gets chatty it’s a mile a minute. He’ll sit next to his brothers or follow them around and just talk talk talk talk talk. Only happens once in awhile but when it does happen they all just stay quiet and listen to him. First time he did that to Echo it was completely out of the blue and he came up behind Echo and just started ranting. Echo stared at him with wide eyes for like ten minutes like ‘is this real? Is he okay?’ Before just sitting down and getting stuck in an hour long chat where he did like zero talking.

Gossipy bastard. Loves to gossip. Loves hearing it. Loves telling it. He’s so quiet most people forget he’s there and they say wild shit in front of him. He tells the 99 everything.

If one of his brothers asks who his favorite is he changes his answer depending on who has annoyed him most that day. ‘Oh you want to know who my favorite is? Wrecker, clearly. Hunter is my least favorite bc he took too long in the shower and used up all the hot water.’

Massive sweet tooth. Keep this man away from a candy store he’ll give himself cavities.

If they’re training playing with fake blasters he makes a ‘pew pew’ sound when he ‘shoots’ it. Super quiet and under his breath but he does it.

He has a game where he tries to see how many tiny rolled up pieces of paper he can get into Hunter’s hair or armor before Hunter catches on. Oh the amount of times he’s been yanked from his bunk after being caught is innumerable.

Loves listening to Tech infodumping but will never admit it out loud. He has learned so much and has found a lot of it fascinating but prefers to sit quietly and keep his eyes closed while Tech talks.

Him and Wrecker have so many more competitions than just the one. They compete all the time. Who can run the fastest. Who can name the most planets. Anything. As long as it’s a competition.

Pretends to be asleep so people don’t ask him to do things and then promptly actually falls asleep.

Cries. Like a lot. Well. Not a lot just a lot more than you’d think. While most people would think he’s too aloof for that I think he picked up a good habit of letting out big bursts of emotion because he always saw Wrecker do it. And he trusts Wrecker. Doesn’t like crying in front of other people but will hide to get some emotion out before rejoining the group.

Secret softy. But in the way where he’ll make fun of his brothers while doing something nice for them. He’s picking up their fave candy from a shop? He’ll throw it at their face when he gives it to them. They’re upset? He’s going to find a way to make sure they get a good meal and have some company but he’s going to be aggressive about it. ‘You haven’t eaten since yesterday. You’re being an idiot. Eat the fucking burrito I went to three different places to find one that would give me the salsa you like now don’t waste my time.’

His toxic trait is acting like he hates when one of them is hugging him as they are hugging him. ‘Ugh get off of me. You’re the worst.’ As he’s tightly hugging them back. Crosshair, honey, why are you like this?

[bekas-ieilandinwoner]

It has been exactly six months since the first time I laid eyes upon Ongezellig. When I first watched it I certainly noticed a few details that really did make me feel called out, but I thought that, "That's it I guess." Little did I know that it would be the greatest revelation of my life. I then began to see more little things/behaviors that made me stop and think, "Wait, I used to do that!" Hell I even had the worst shutdown of my life because of some really dumb history presentation that I procrastinated on, and when I tried to make it I needed it to be absolutely perfect (Still got sidetracked while making it though.) This was early 2023 and I spent that summer doing literally nothing because I lost so much in making that presentation. At the time I really didn't know why I wasn't enjoying the things I had been previously. Turns out that I didn't have any friends! Those people around me were acquaintances at best. It didn't seem like an problem at the time, but with hindsight I can see that I really wasn't doing good at all. 16th of September, I see a video for the best pilot I have never seen. 20th of September, I watched it. 1st of January, I realized that this show perfectly displays what I have experienced. Since then I have been in a weird limbo. "I want to post about it, but what will other people think?" Basically I just trying to say that the show has changed my life in an innumerable amount of ways. It has validated someone who long felt unseen, forgotten, ignored, hated, jaded, stuck, unable to communicate, obsessed, reserved, shy, anxiety-laden, friendless, reclusive, and most of all alone. It was a slow realisation that took 16 years, but now I am here.

[writingtoforgetreality]

Sleep Paralysis (Helmut Zemo x Reader)

[Marvel-Masterlist]

Summary: You hated sharing a room with another person. Especially when it came to sleeping. Which usually resulted into you staying awake for the night if you were teamed up with someone. Sometimes you could not escape exhaustion, though.

Words: 2,381

Warnings: language, angst, fluff, insomnia, experiencing sleep paralysis, anxiety, TFATWS spoilers (I don’t think there are any but just to be sure I guess), Zemo awakens the poet in me idk, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

The people you found yourself teamed up with gave you safety. Sam, Bucky & even Zemo. With the three of them on your side, you had nothing to fear. Missions with these guys were easy. If the two grown ass men children were not occupied with killing the other grown ass man child. Names were not needed here, that was explanation enough. You were surprised yourself when you started enjoying Zemo’s company. He was a criminal. He was supposed to be the bad guy. So why could you not view him as such? Was it the way he moved his body? Was it his hair which fell in place just perfectly imperfect? Was it his coat that accentuated the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders alone? Was it his smile that was just the tiniest bit bigger whenever he glanced at you? Was it that stupid head tilt thing that was everything but stupid to you? What the hell was it? And why the hell was resisting your urges so damn hard?

Maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you but you could have sworn that his eyes fell on you, no matter how big the crowd. You could have sworn that his body searched out your presence wherever you went. There was this unspoken thing between you guys. As much as you wanted to address the tension building up, you were apprehensive what your best friends would say about it. You were doubtful how he would receive the news. Your ever growing friendship was at risk. The mere thought of having to live your life without him was inconceivable. How did it work before he came along? It was like your brain erased those memories altogether. Truthfully, he changed your life around without having an idea of the effect he had on you. Or he did know but enjoyed messing with your feelings. Though he did not strike you as that type of man.

Countless nights were spent with you having deep, meaningful conversations. Thanks to those times, you perceived his side of the story. His motives & what drove him to the actions that brought him behind bars in the end. By no means were you trying to justify his crimes. There would have been multiple different ways. Back then, the only purpose for him was revenge. Apologies that came too late were given. Zemo truly was sorry. And while words & emotions could be faked easily, it was impossible to hide the deeper meaning that his eyes held. The softness, the wariness, he could not simulate this. Those beautiful brown orbs were withholding years worth of tears. It was not your position to force him to display his weakness in front of you. Sometimes, simply knowing that another person was available if needed, that was enough.

The same feeling of secureness was provided by him. Your past was not necessarily pleasant either. Innumerable regrets labeled your existence. You were not a good example of a hero. Every day, you contemplated the what-if’s. Overthinking was part of your diurnal routine. All the pondering was needless. The switch only shifted after the beginnings of Zemo’s nocturnal reassurances. Without him, you would still be stuck in that gloomy pit your body had constructed on its own. You two were reliant on each other. Not physically but mentally. Unpretentiously, small touches followed. Brushing his thumbs over your smooth skin on the back of your hand. Squeezing your shoulders gingerly. Goosebumps erupted each time his body warmth was transferred to yours. Whether he wore his leather gloves or not, your body responded with endless fireworks that launched from deep inside.

The hotel you entered radiated wealth. Zemo negotiated the reservations. Which was obvious by the mere impression of the lofty ceilings that were embellished with immense sparkling chandeliers. Your eyes overstrained from the extravagance, switching from one highlight to the next. As a regular citizen, your income denied you such a lifestyle. Avengers did not earn a fortune, this trait came with the job description. Meaning that you would savor every little ticking of your stay. The marvelous high of contentment ceased when the receptionist informed you of an immutable adjustment concerning your room situation. The only two vacant premises were a king size in one & two singles in the other. Apparently, the decision was resolved without you having a say in it. Your questions were answered with a definite proclamation. You were the only soul unable to kill the Baron. Your attempts to conceal your embarrassment were unsuccessful. The smirk adorning Zemo’s features was unhelpful in your current position. Sam & Bucky abandoned you in the entrance, heading off to their room to rest after a tiring mission.

Zemo demanded your luggage to be brought up to your chambers. One of his hands rested on your lower back. This motion warmed your body. It was so simple yet filled with extensive care. It should have been wrong but you have never felt more protected in your entire life. One thing worried you. Sharing a room with the man who brought out your true happiness. It was no secret that you suffered from insomnia. Usually, it vanished after indefinite missions. The interminable flight in Zemo’s private jet added up to your exhaustion. Under no circumstances would you sleep in a room with the Baron. The trust existed, that was not the issue. What happened during your slumber could not be controlled. The tossing, turning, screaming. Nightmares invaded your dreams every time you closed your eyes. Therefore, you obviated sleep as long as possible. Multiple cups of coffee, the heavy does of caffeine every day, aided your wish to stay up. If you narrated a good enough excuse, he would not inquire. At least, that was what you hoped.

Stepping through the tall door into the spacious room, you stopped dead in your tracks. You needed a second to take everything in. Never before had you occupied such a luxurious chamber. It resembled a suite. Different shades of warm colors complemented each other. The vast windows enabled your view of the city beneath. Colorful lights brought the dead of the dim night to life. Facing the stars aligning the somber night sky, Zemo arranged himself next to you. Minutes of silence enveloped you, filling the room to the brink. The man next to you fractured the quietness with whispers. He pointed out various constellations. Observantly, you absorbed his words. He was cultured but never bragged about it. His sentiment of deliberate timing was unique. One of his characteristics was fathoming when to quit talking. Or when it was suitable to speak. Zemo constantly knew how to ease the tension with his thoughtful comments.

“You take the bed. I am content with resting on the couch.” he proposed. As much as you appreciated his deliberation, you pronounced the contrary.

“No, Helmut. I won’t sleep anyway, you can have the bed.” your gentle smile underlined the tiredness emanating from your eyes. He tilted his head to one side, observing your body language.

“You have not rested after our mission yet. Not even during the flight where Sam, James & I slept.” he annotated, worry audible in his voice. Your shoulders lifted in a short shrug. Alleging that you were fine. Spending hours with you concluded to him comprehending your lies. Your features were different whenever you attempted feigning him. Approaching your figure in the barely illuminated room, he halted a few steps away from you. Movements of his hands caught your attention. The gloves were peeled off. Lifting one of his arms, you shivered when his skin touched your cheek affectionately. His fingers caressed your face so lovingly, your eyes closed instinctively. “You are exhausted, darling.” his words were soft, soothing your ears by the fragility of them. The space between you two was narrow. You breathed the same air. His body heat passed onto you. Your heart sped up, almost as if it could break out any second. Nobody had ever made you feel that way. Nodding obediently, Zemo dragged you closer to the soft mattress covered with silk sheets. It was a desired invitation. It did not last long before you gave in. The smooth material welcomed you. Realizing Zemo’s retreating steps, your hand reached for his wrist, freezing his tries. He glanced over his shoulder bewildered.

“Stay.” it was music to his ears, hearing your quiet proposition. Holding himself back, he shook his head briefly. A signal that he did not want to disturb you. “Please.” his face softened at your plea. How could he resist your sweet voice? How could he resist you when it was obvious that you wished for him to stay with you?

“Okay.” pulling back the blankets, he lied right behind you. Your back was facing him. The shock was only brief when your hand searched for his arm. Draping it over your waist, you sighed contently when he embraced you tighter. It was not just what you needed. This, it was required by him as well.

Peaceful hours of cuddling went by without disruption. The calm was interrupted by your eyes snapping open in fear. Your back was against the mattress. Staring at the tall ceiling, your breath quickened when you could not move. Could not talk. Could not scream. There was not a single thing that could be done but you awaited the bad that would arrive soon. It was not the first time you experienced such a situation. The pressure in your chest grew steadily, obstructing your breathing. Your muscles ached, your head pounded. Someone would murder you. If you did not rise soon, death would come knocking on your door. Your attempts to push away the sheets & your labored breath stirred the man next to you awake. His confusion ended when he noticed your struggles. Propping his head onto one of his arms, he scooted closer to your body. Zemo knew what you were going through at the moment. While he had never suffered from such a period himself, he had read about it. Your eyes widened when his locked onto yours. The fear was visible even without a light illuminating the room. His free hand moved to your cheek. In the process, he whispered sweet nothings to you in hopes that they would reach you. Irregular breaths were still very much present. Though you had him with you, your anxiety was acting up still. Your mind was determined that you would die in a few minutes.

“Hey, hey, hey. Darling, look at me.” your eyes slowly shifted from the ceiling to his dark, almost black ones. They were a beautiful shade of brown but it was too sinister to detect the different hues. “There you go.” his voice was steady, controlled. “What you are experiencing is called sleep paralysis. It means that you are awake but your body is asleep still. It will be over soon, I promise. This might feel life threatening to you but I’m here, okay? I am here with you & I will not let anything happen to you.” his eyebrows raised expectantly. The most you could give him was a useless attempt of a nod. His fingers stroked over your skin, bringing you comfort. You were not on your own. Zemo held you close to his body. Still unable to move, the one thing you could feel was his body heat. Minutes without change went by. Affirmations were whispered into the quiet of the ample room. Your leg shuffled the blankets. A small smile crept onto your face. Finally, you had control again. Your muscles were no longer frozen in place. Overwhelmed by the sudden liberty, you embraced Zemo into a tight hug. Reciprocating immediately, he held your head in place in the crook of his neck. His other arm raked around your waist, keeping you as close as possible. He assured you that you were alright. That nobody & nothing could hurt you. Not when he was around. The silent tears rolling down your cheeks were inevitable. They stained his shirt but he could not care less. All that mattered was you overcoming the feeling of uncontrollability. Maybe it was his explanation. Or his proximity. Or his sweet words calming you down. In the end, the cause was insignificant. Zemo helped you through this & there were no words to express your gratitude to him.

Pulling away slightly, he rested his forehead against yours. You mimicked his deep breaths, disposing of the last bits of worry. When you were in his presence, it was gratuitous to be fearful. Demons had no chance. Not when it came to Zemo. The next reaction came naturally. This time, you did not fight the urge to press your lips onto his. You took his breath away by the unexpected action. There were no complaints from his side. Both hands rested on your face, bringing you closer if it was even feasible. In your imagination, you recalled kissing Zemo to be heated. This right now was the exact opposite. No words could depict what emotions were rushing through your entire body. Descriptions were useless if you could demonstrate it with a simple kiss. After it ended, silence sheathed you two once again. It was everything but unpleasant. He kept holding onto you. Zemo would never judge you because of nightmares or similar occurrences. Your head rested on his chest, above his heart. The beat calming your nerves even further. Explaining that you had always suffered from the monsters of the night, he did not interrupt. You needed to confide & he was more than happy to be available. Another soft kiss was pressed on top of your head. A content sigh left your lips. Zemo assured you that he would stay, no matter what. He was in this for good. Whatever this was. Time would clarify the relationship between you two. All you knew was that it felt right. Having him close to you. Having him as your protector. Having him to brighten up your days. Simply having him. That was adequate. That was your unspoken wish. You expected a lot but you did not expect the fulfillment of a previous unknown dream. You were home.

Published (04/21/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @eristudytime, @hiraethmaximoff, @incansas, @fionanovasleftnut, @mundaytuesday, @ashamed23, @pedropascallovebot, @kpoptrash2000, @lulu-yuming, @bibliophilewednesday, @arctic--ash, @mischiefmanaged71, @yallgotkik, @noavengers, @lieutenantn, @birdieofloxley, @aisling1985, @tatooineisdry, @obsidian-queen, @h0ly-fire, @dxnxdjarxn (thanks for your support <3)

[kagrenacs]

Explaining the Iceberg #6

*Some things aren’t covered, namely things i’ve already discussed or content that I don’t feel is appropriate. And not everything is covered in depth

Tatterdemalion Moon Colonies: A since deleted forum post from MK, discussing the moon colonies of Reman that would later appear in c0da

Tamriel is the Far Shores: Orgnum is the immortal King of the Maormer, also said to be the Serpent God of the Sakatal’ indicating some connection to the Yokudan God of everything, Sakatal. Orgnum’s goal is to conquer Tamriel, this theory states that he may have mantled the Yokudan God and is confusing Tamriel for the Far Shores.

Water is Memory: One of the more difficult concepts to really pin down in these kind of theories, so bear with me. This topic has been brought up a few times in older lore discussions, and once again in ESO quite recently. First there should be clarification that I mean water both metaphorically and literally, just like the towers, there is no distinction between real and fake because this is a video game world. Second thing to note: There’s a lot of conflicting theories and ideas on this, i’m only providing the way I can conceptualize this all. If I provided every theory i’d surely hit some sort of character limit. Do you remember the metaphor about every soul in existence being a singular drop in an ocean? This is looking at the ocean itself, it’s the collective consciousness and memories of everyone out there, past, present and future. But this isn’t a synonym for souls and energy, this is a whole separate process. Sometimes souls are shown to be able to live without their memories (the soul carin), sometimes reflections of people's memories get stuck to places like ghosts (memory stones) When someone dies, their soul/energy and their memories may stick together and go to an Aedra or Daedra, or they might get split apart (like a Vestige) and end up in the Dreamsleeve to get recycled and in the Drowned Lamp which is a name for where all knowledge lost to history goes. This concept can be seen with the Daedra too, when discussing the ‘waters of oblivion’ when they get banished their essence heads back to this beginning place to spring back up. Water is memory also gets brought up quite often talking about Sotha Sil, who Vivec says is the selfishness of the sea, and whose ‘daughter’ is Mnemoli/Memory.

Crassius Curio, Time traveller: Another variant on the Crassius Curio plagiarism theory, accounting for why the lusty argonian maid is in ESO.

The Republic of Hahd: Mentioned in the Pocket Guide to the Empire, a group of people who claimed they lived off the coast of summerset, in an underwater civilization called Hahd. The only point in history that they became relevant was when they received tariffs for the transport of ‘mnemolite’ from the people of Hahd to the people of Nahd, and nearly sparked war between the Empire and the Altmer as they tried to figure out what was going on. Hahd and Nahd were both made up, thought to be by a group of psjjic students, as the island of Artaeum disappeared in that same year again.

Leaper Demons: Another name for Mehrunes Dagon, before he was cursed to become Dagon. Named this because of his ability to jump from Kalpa to Kalpa

Zero Stone: This is related to the towers, it’s the ‘heart’ of the tower, the piece that keeps it stable and functioning, essentially like a cornerstone. For the Red Tower and Walk-Brass this was a literal heart (the Heart of Lorkhan), but sometimes it’s other things like a fruit, or a person.

Tiber Septim Awoke Dagoth Ur: In the same short time as the Tiber Wars, where Tiber Septim was attempting to conquer all of Tamriel, Dagoth Ur awoken in Morrowind, which eventually forced ALMSIVI’s hand in signing the Armistice that would make Morrowind a part of the empire, hand over the Numidium, but allow Morrowind to largely keep it’s sovereignty. This theory suggests that Tiber Septim purposefully awoke Dagoth Ur as a long-term strategy, rather than trying to defeat ALMSIVI in wars. If not done purposefully, Dagoth ur may have been awakened by the presence of Tiber Septim (whose thu’um seemed to have came from Wulfharth, a survivor of the battle of Red Mountain and associate of Dagoth Ur)

Akatosh’s Shadow: MK mentioned Peryite as Akatosh’s shadow. Akatosh/Auriel largely introduced stability into the chaos of the Dawn Era as the God of time. Peryite has a similar function, that being natural order, where he micromanages Oblivion and Nirn. There’s more to this theory that i haven’t included due to sake of brevity  https://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/4zct3i/the_shadow_of_aka_peryite/

The people of Et’Ada: Mentioned in the books The Light and Dark and Sithis, the people of et’ada are the descendants of the clash between Anu and Padomay, the original spirits that would give up their forms to become mortal

The Dwemer became their creations: A thought that instead of the commonly accepted Numidium Skin Theory, the Dwemer souls are the ones powering their automatons. 

Lefthanded Maomer: An in-universe theory that the Lefthanded elves and the Maomer are related. Evidence for this may exist in Orgunm being ‘Sakatal’

Skyrim getting Colder: A theory that says Skyrim is entering the ice age because of the recent snowfalls and the presence of Sabertooth cats and mammoths.

Anti-Magik Zones: Probably taken from D&D, areas where magic doesn’t work for some reason or other.

The Greedy Man: Another name for Lorkhan due to him ‘stealing’ the divinity of his fellow Et’Ada

Vvardenfell Lesbian Anomaly: The prescence of a large amount of wlw npcs in ESO and the presence of Tel Mora, an island full of women and Mistress Dratha who says she hates men. While the ESO one i’d argue that there’s a fairly equal spread of same sex couples, and Tel Mora is certainly the original developers adding in something ‘strange’ by having an entirely female island, various Lgbt fans of the games have made their own theories on this. @boethiah has proposed that Tel Mora was established as a safe place for lesbians, and Telmoran is the in-universe equivalent to ‘lesbian’ 

Prism Textract: A reference to a book from the mod Legacy of the Dragonborn

Ruptga: The chief god of the Yokudan Pantheon, people debate on whether he’s equivalent to Akatosh or Magnus, if he’s even equivalent to any god. He was the first god to figure out the Walkabout, and taught the other gods how to survive Sakatal (God of everything) shedding its skin.

The Elder Council world control:  References a theory that the Elder Council is an incredibly powerful political entity that controls the entire world. (looking at how things were handled in Oblivion, doubtful.)

Tiber Septim Shapeshifting dragon: Ingame theories that Tiber Septim was a shapeshifting dragon based on the empire’s affiliation with them. (source seems to originate from GT Noonan, pre-Oblivion and Skyrim) Could be an early idea for Dragonborns, or perhaps just a wild conspiracy theory.

Insane Time-God: Another MK text, et’Ada Eight Aedra, Eat the Dreamer. States Aka has gone insane due to how many names he has

The Staff of Unity and Chaos: The object you need to assemble in tes Arena. Is able to open gateways to other realms, near instantly kill people. In some of the early drafts of the main quest of ESO, a similar relic was proposed called the Staff of Towers, and would have been similar to the main quest of Arena.

Dracocrysalis: Mentioned in the Nu-Mantia, it’s largely unknown what this means apart from ‘it keeps elder magic bound so it can’t change into something lesser’ based off wording it probably means something akin to changing into a dragon.

Telescopic Aurbis: Refers to a quote from MK A single Wheel? More like a Telescope that stretches all the way back to the Eye of the Anui-El, with Padomaics innumerable along its infinite walls. Essentially this refers to the cycle of Kalpas, all wheels lined up with one another would make a telescope-like shape. The focal point of the telescope would be Mundus, ascending upwards you hit oblivion, then Aetherius surrounding that, and then lesser, more chaotic realms beyond that. This is also mentioned in the Murkmire book ‘Lost tales of the Famed Explorer.’

Gaenor is Sai: Gaenor is said to be one of the hardest bosses of Morrowind, in the Tribunal expansion you can give him gold and allow him to become an incredibly strong warrior. He has incredibly high luck (770 points) making him difficult to hit. This theory states that he is either Sai, the god of luck himself, or a champion of his.

Haskill is the Actual Mad God: This might be a couple different theories. 1st: The events of the Shivering Isles is a trick played on the player character by Haskill/Sheogorath, and the Sheo you see and interact with is just a projection. 2nd: From a loremaster interview from ESO, Haskill states he’s the ‘vestige’ of Sheogorath, the mortal remnants of the person who mantled the mad god in the last greymarch.

Moraelyn=Nerevar: Moraelyn of the King Edward books was likely an early draft for Nerevar. Both have association with roses, both are from House Mora and are considered a champion of the Dunmer. He probably participated in the War with the Nords, being described in the 36 Lessons.

Tsaesci Vampire Language eaters: From MK’s And we ate it to become it and another interview. https://www.imperial-library.info/content/fireside-chats Tsaesci feed on language, he doesn’t state if this is metaphorical, or literal (if that even matters in these games)

Scarab’s transformation: Refers to Scarab that Transforms into the New Man, or Amaranth. The Scarab is a metaphor for godhood. (Scarabs are symbols of divinity in Ancient Egypt) and the New Man is a person achieving Amaranth and creating a new dream/universe.

Trinimalarky: A fun name for Malarky. 

King Dead Wolf-Deer: A Bosmer transformed by the Wild Hunt. Lived from the first era until the beginning of the third.

Multiple Underkings: Another statement by MK, general consensus seems to be this refers to the existence of the Underking as two people, Wulfharth a nordic general from the 1st era who held the title. Zurin Arctus, who may have taken up the title after the 2nd Era, when Tiber Septim turned him into an undead being. Or both of them sharing the same body known as the ‘Underking’

Thot-Box: https://www.c0da.es/thotbox/7b10359a40bba7d2e654bc10226f694a68009f15 the worlds worst choose your own adventure. From what I understand of KIMMUNE, a thot-box is some sort of AI

Baar Dau is Shit: Pretty well known at this point. One myth states that Malacath got into a disagreement with Vivec and pooped on Vivec City..

Nu-Hatta: In reference to the person, they’re an ancestor cult member. Otherwise this is used to refer to the Nu-Hatta Intercept written by MK. The text in question seems to be a list of the various ways mortals have achieved divinity. 

Talos brought back dragons: Not sure about this one, there’s too many results to filter through to find what this is specifically about

Lyg’s Numidium: The thought here is that if Lyg is the parallel to Tamriel, then it should also have a Numidium that reinforces time and makes events a reality.

Dawn Era Ideological warfare: From UESP, Quote: The Dawn Era was a period during which time followed an incomprehensible nonlinear path and the very laws of nature remained unset, making a timeline an artificial fabrication. A conflict was simultaneously a mere ideological difference of opinion and a manifest war. What this means in simple terms, all possible outcomes in the Dawn era were simultaneous. This might also refer to the Ehlnofey wars where the wandering ehlnofey (ancestor of men) and the old ehlnofey (ancestor of mer) differed in opinion about the existence of Mundus and went to war.

Vivec destroyed Yokuda: A reference to the 17th lesson of Vivec, where Vivec states For a year they studied under their sword saints and then for another Vivec taught them the virtue of the little reward. Vivec chose a king for a wife and made another race of monsters which ended up destroying the west completely. In a literal sense (not that this means much in context of the lessons), this seems to indicate that Vivec created the sword saints, who ultimately ended up sinking Yokuda with the Pankratosword technique. Vivec also said malewife rights.

Ayrenn KIMMUNE: Another MK text. This one states Queen Ayrenn is actually a 9th era cyborg from the future. This was written after MK read an early draft for the Dominion quests and wanted to make it cooler. The writers of ESO have stated they don’t consider this canon.

Tiger Guars: A bit of old morrowind lore, Imperials would mistakenly call Guars, ‘tigers’

Hermaeus Mora is a failed Elder Scroll: Two theories here: 1st: The Black Books are Mora’s failed attempts to create Elder Scrolls (The first pages reference concepts such as the Dreamer and CHIM, Elder scrolls are fragments of creation) 2nd: Hermaeus Mora himself is a failed Elder Scroll. The Census of Daedric Princes describes him as ‘born of thrown-away ideas used during the creation of Mundus’

SITHISIT: the Ehlnofex word for Sithis

Khajiit Tattoo theft: Rajhin the thief god was said to steal a tattoo off Empress Kintyra’s neck as she slept. 

Mythopoeia: irl, it’s essentially a term for ‘world-building’ In the context of the elder scrolls, it means the ability to affect reality using belief or the will to change (similar to CHIM) In morrowind Yagrum uses it to describe the enchantments Kagrenac placed upon the tools. 

Dragons Biological Time-Machines: In the early drafts for dragons, MK described them as Biological Time-Machines. While this isn’t entirely reflective of what they are now, some truth holds. Being shards of Aka, dragons inherently have some ability to alter time itself.

Argonian Tits: I can’t keep doing this.

The Elven Lie: From what I gather, it seems to relate to the idea that the gods are infallible, when in fact they have weaknesses and flaws.

[zhonglishrine]

Can i have a oneshot for gogol comforting his crying s/o?

Pairing: Nikolai Gogol x Reader Word Counts: 2.3k Note: Hello anon! Please forgive me for taking a long time to do your request! Since it was the first request on my blog, I thought I wanted to make it special. But I was stuck with writer’s block. So I used my old work before and re-edit it instead so it will be slightly different to match with the request! I’m sorry and I hope you will enjoy it and special big thanks to @soukokuwu​ for helping me proofread this one! Really, thank you so muchhhh <3!!!

It was empty.

In this dark cold continent, there was nothing but void and darkness inside. You either existed or your mind was playing a trick on you. It felt like a grand illusion - that nothing was real. What you were searching for was not there. Nothing you did would ever make you feel complete in any sense. There was always this feeling that haunted you, always reminding you of how miserable and disgusting you were. Gnawed and woven to your very soul like wild ivy tendrils wrapping around your empty heart and kept whispering down to the deepest recesses of your mind.

You were a monster.

You were a demon.

You were a human with no heart.

You were no different than a dead soul.

Then, why were you still alive?

For what purpose were you even here?

You shut your eyes tightly. You wanted to scream and block every deafening sound that suffocated you in this insufferable world. It exacerbated and tightened in your chest the more you struggled. Had it not been your sanity that kept you sane, you would already be consumed by madness. But would it be better if you just let yourself loose? Let it take over and become nothing but a shell of a living monster? Would it be better just to let what remains of you and burn it into a fire of anguish and let it turn to ash? Let it destroy you with the spite and hatred you harbor towards everything?

You were desperate to reach for something.

Anything.

And that was when he came along, when you were at a loss, as though he knew.

"Would you like to join the Decay of Angels?" He had said, with eyes as vacant as yours, but his hypnotizing violet eyes beneath that moonlight was much deeper and darker. It feels like you would lose yourself and drown in it if you were to stare any longer. Yet without exchanging any further words, he seemed to understand the unspoken pain that has festered through your being at that very moment. You looked exactly like a lost child that desperately needed guidance, that needed to cling onto something.

"...What will I get if I join you?"

"You will be free. From your sins."

That was what he had offered. His soothing, saintly voice was like a remedy that could mend your broken soul that needed salvation, which had been beyond redemption at that point. You had nothing to lose and thus accepted his invitation back then, with a little hope thinking something might change. But after so many years, it still remained the same. You were still the same old you. No matter how much you wanted to pretend, you could never fake a smile and pretend to be happy. It felt like it would be hypocritical- like it would only make you lose sight of yourself even more.

Then, what is it that you were searching for, actually?

Why were you still here?

A soft sigh escaped your chapped lips as you stared long at the night sky above. The stars twinkled, a million light-years away from the orbit. Yet you still reached out your hand, as if attempting to pick one and keep it in your pocket in a futile endeavor.

"A beautiful night, isn't it?" a familiar voice chirped, interrupting your time alone. You were never one that liked the companionship of others, but even so, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, he'd just pester you even more and pop out randomly, much to your distaste. He was the last member of the Decay of Angels that you would want to interact with.

"Why are you here?"

"Aww, don't be so cold with me~! I merely passed by and just wanted to say hello to you~" Gogol winked and gave you a finger gun, as though his intentions weren't obvious.

"Bother someone else."

"Ah, are you upset that I'm not Dos?" He smirked as he guessed that.

You felt that he could easily read right through you and you didn’t like it - the feeling of being exposed. Fyodor was a man of mystery, a puzzle that you couldn't solve. You thought of him as someone who understood you and despite the terror associated with his name, he was still someone that you respected profoundly. Not out of fear, but maybe, admiration. But you hated that Gogol was right. You wished you were talking to Fyodor instead of the clown, and Gogol had gotten it right on the nose. And yet here you two were, with different circumstances that bring you two to join the association, even with different goals.

"Shut up. Just leave me alone, will you?"

"Aw... but no one wants to play with me. Even Sigma is busy. But you have been doing nothing but stargazing~ Don't you get tired doing that every night? If it were me, I'd die of boredom!" He flailed his arms in an attempt to get your attention. You cursed under your breath. This clown was too energetic for you to handle.

"None of your business what I do." You replied back to him crudely. But he took a seat beside you anyway, sitting by the edge of the building and swinging his legs back and forth with those comical pointy shoes of his. For someone his age, he acted rather childishly. Though, maybe that's just one of his antics as a clown. But he was the epitome of someone you could never understand. Since you can ever be two-faced like he is.

Gogol hummed. "You always come here, why is that?"

"I told you; it's none of your business."

"Aw. Here I thought that we were friends~" Gogol made it sound like he was hurt by your words.

You ruefully snorted at that, "Funny hearing that coming from you." Did he think you were that naive? Naive enough to think that you two were friends in this organization that was solely established with terrorists that can backstab you at any given moment?

"Is it not right? You've been with us for years, yet you seem so distant. Just like the stars." He remarked while spreading out his left arm to the sky.

"Is that so?" You looked up at it again, attempting to count the innumerable stars, albeit knowing how futile it was.

"Say... why did you join the Decay of Angels?" You posed the question to him, though you weren’t really curious. You just needed something to fill the awkward silence.

"Why, indeed. If I must answer that, why don't you tell me your reason first?"

Reason. You were still unsure about it yet. Why? You had killed so many just for that answer alone but the book that was your mind still drew a blank. Nothing was written on it yet. Was it because you were drawn to Fyodor's words at that time? Had he lured you in with nothing but empty promises?

"Perhaps… I was searching for the meaning of my existence." You curtly answered, but your mind still pondered on it.

"Then, have you found it?" Gogol asked, evincing interest to know as he turned to look at you sideways. There was something between you, something that somehow made you feel connected to him. Both of you were pawns that would soon be disposed of once you have served your purpose. It didn’t scare you, though. You would do what you had to, even if that meant dying in the end. The only thing you were scared of is regret - of not finding what you were searching for in the first place.

"...I don't know. Maybe not yet. Maybe I never will." You said, feigning nonchalance. "Then, what about you?" Now it was your turn to look into his molten gold eye, the one scarred with a vertical cut. Was there a story behind it? You wonder inwardly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask Gogol about it. In the Decay of Angels, every member came from a different background and it was unknown what they did before. If you asked him he might tell, either in a jesting manner or make it overly complicated, like another riddle you had to solve.

"I search for my freedom. Just like a bird that soars the skies without being bound by anything," he replied with a wistful tone and his expression softened, "I am seeking for a perfect freedom, like that."

"Freedom, huh..." You repeated, "you're one strange guy." Indeed, he was. Nikolai Gogol was an enigma himself, just as Fyodor was. As though he was standing between the bridge of psychosis and rationality that he wants to get rid of. You failed at understanding his essence, but you could empathize with his pursuit.

"Funny hearing that coming from you~" He retorted with your earlier words. "But birds and stars, are they not so different?"

"How so? They are two different entities, to start with."

"Because both are up far in the sky, seemingly unreachable for a mortal like us. Even so, we still gaze at them longingly, wishing upon the star, wishing to fly, wishing to escape from this warm, wet hell."

You couldn’t refute that. Technically, he wasn’t wrong.

"Then, have you found it?"

Gogol looked at you again, his eye reflecting every little light in the world that you see. He softened his countenance as if he actually understood what lay within your heart that you tried to conceal.

"Maybe I do. Now that I met you."

Within the span of a second that felt like an eternity, your heart thumped loudly in your ribcage, like he took your breath away at that moment with his gaze alone.

No...

Don't fall for it.

Don't fall for it again.

It would be the same. He would just be like the others. He too, would leave once he saw what was inside - that which was hiding and cloaking you in the darkness, that which enshrouded and imprisoned you inside.

And just like he said, you were exactly like the stars.

You were in front of him, and yet you felt so distant and too far away to reach.

"...It's nice talking to you. But I must take my leave now..." You wanted to withdraw yourself before you started to harbor hope and belief in someone again. Before you fell for it again, only to be tripped afterward. Only to be deceived, left broken, and uncared for years.

But he held you back by your wrist.

"Won't you stay a little while longer, my dove? A star will one day perish, and I would feel so lonely if you are truly gone." His voice somehow pulls the strings of your heart. But you know better than to fall for him.

"Wouldn't it be better? You don't know who I am..." You tried to break free, yet he was stubborn, he didn’t want to let you go. "I am not what you think I am... I'm just another monster who has no heart. You shouldn't get close to me..." Your eyes were already starting to well up with hot tears. The stinging pain in your chest throbbed, each passing second with him made you feel suffocated, as though causing you to drown in your own misery. Inevitable it was that you would bring him down with you as well.

"...Or else, you would destroy yourself too," you warned him,

"You’re either human or you are not, either you are a monster with no heart or not, what difference does it make?" He questioned you back, "Be whatever you want to be. It's your freedom, it’s your life, it’s your call."

"It's easy for you to say that... I'm not like you."

"Then tell me, what do you wish for every time you look at the stars? Have you no will for yourself? Have you not wished to break free from your cage as well?"

"I..." Stumped with his questions, you gazed into his eye once again, tears blurring your vision. Everything that was pent up inside you until this moment felt like it was crumbling, disintegrating into dust. Like waves crashing against the sand, such brittle was your resolution now when faced with his raw, naked, and pure emotions when he took off his clown mask.

"I want to... I just want to escape from this place... from my demons..." You said with a trembling, shaky voice, all the remaining strength in you threatening to leave the more you looked into his eyes. What kind of pain does he hide behind them? Why did it hurt you as much as well? As ironic as it sounded, in this moment, he looked more human than you were.

"Then, I will be the one that frees you from it now, my dove. Go, fly to the stars as you wish." He said and held you near, and contrary to his words that coached you to be free, he actually looked like he never wanted to let you go, yet you felt strangely safe and found warmth in his arms. You felt like you were finally being liberated from that which imprisoned you in that bottomless darkness. Even if what you see is just a glimpse of light. Then, that should be enough rather than nothing at all.

"You are beautiful when you soar free that way."

Two humans. Two monsters. Two beating broken hearts.

Under that starry night that illuminated the sky with constellations, it's like your fate entwined and mirrored each other on how almost tragically similar it was, with the demons that were trapped inside the both of you, seeking solace in each other's existence to remind you that you two were still human beings that just wished to be free.

[parkeraul]

Drunk bestfriend!Tom confessing his feelings for you while you take care of him

→ can you feel me? | t.h.

author’s note — hey ya, thanks for requesting. i hope you like it! requests are open again for tom, peter & shawn, btw. hit the askbox.

pairing: tom holland x reader | bestfriend!au

masterlist┊add yourself to my taglists┊give me feedbacks.

warnings — fluff, kind of angsty, swearing, brief mentions of sex and alcohol consumption. 

“Turn around,” Tom says, walking slowly as he tries hard not to miss a step. “I don’t want you to see my intimacy.”

Y/N stands up from the bed as soon as she sees her best friend walking drowsily, his right hand holding the edges of the towel wrapped around his waist together. His left hand palms the wall, as if they could only show him what way he should follow to reach the wardrobe. The brown eyes are glued on the wooden floor, slow steps coming closer as Y/N prompts herself to stretch both arms and offer him her hands to guide his trail. 

“Nah, no,” Tom refuses, shifting his hands up in the air and away from her touch, which leads to his towel to loosen and start to fall. “I can handle myself,” A hiccup interrupts him briefly, frame tumbling backwards as he loses balance for a moment. “I’m fine, look!”

As soon as he stops talking, he opens his arms and starts to lift his right foot to fold his knee and make a 4 shape with his legs — obviously, tilting from side to side due to the dizziness. 

“Tom, what the hell?!” Y/N hisses, long strides leading her to grab both his arms and bring him back to Earth. “Quit fucking around, this ain’t funny.”

Laughing, Tom falls forwards and hugs his best friend clumsily, squishing her body with his powerless limbs. He felt a numbness running through his nerves, but his muscular arms made Y/N feel like he was using all of his might to hold her against his cold body. It’s all too good until she feels him starting to get heavier, pressing down on her. 

“Help me change, kitten?” He mumbles weakly, arms still tangled around her shoulders as they tiptoe left and right to avoid crashing down. 

“Kitten?” Y/N asks, frowning. 

“Kitten.” 

“Don’t call me kitten.” 

“Why not?” The british boy asks back, burying his face on the crook of her neck, sniffing her scent and closing his sleepy eyes. “You liked it when Raul called you that in high school.” 

“Will you let that go?” She sighs, smiling and Tom smiles along because he can notice it, even though he doesn’t have a view. Her words slipped out way too softly for her not to be grinning, he knows it like the palm of his hand. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you about that.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” While Y/N helps him step away, he lets out a breathy laugh and chews on his bottom lip no longer after, hands trailing their way back to his dark–red towel threatening to fall. “I remember you shaking whenever he came across, you liked it.” 

Y/N guides Tom to flop onto the mattress, where he sits down with a lazy smile sprawled across his flushy face. There are droplets scrolling down his chest, his short hair a little bit damp and his skin getting goosebumps as the cold temperature envolves the bedroom. She walks to his drawers, choosing one of his various Calvins for him to wear as he watches her attentive like a child.

“I so didn’t.” 

“You did.” 

“I fuckin’ did not!” 

“Y/N, come on,” He speaks loudly, accent dripping down strongly everytime he opened his mouth. “You literally sent me a message that day talking about–” 

Not looking back, she tosses a black pair of Calvins right onto his face, looking for his pajamas on another drawer and hoping she had shut him up with the fabric. 

“Talking about how he moaned weirdly and couldn’t stop talking during sex.” 

“Where the fuck are your pajamas?” She sighs, slamming the drawers shut as she gets no success. 

“Do you still hate when people talk during sex?” Tom unfolds his underwear, only looking at it as he has no willing on putting them on. 

“It’s not that I hate it, it depends,” Y/N answers nonchalantly, finding on his bottom drawer a pair of sweats that she throws it back to him. “Raul was annoying, I hated it with him.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“He was a son of a bitch, you knew that,” She emphasizes, closing the drawer as she opens the biggest door of his wardrobe to search for a cozy blanket to cover him with. “You knew that before I did, actually.” 

Tom’s head starts to spin, vision getting blurry as he tries to watch Y/N’s actions across his bedroom. It’s hard to focus, but the fact that she’s staying here to help him get ready to sleep and taking care of him seems to connect more with the moment — even if it means he can only feel clearly, sight losing itself more and more. He doesn’t remember when he started to lose control, or how many tequila shots he had in between the countless bottles of beer he took. The taste remains still on his memory, as fresh as the emotions blossoming across his thumping chest. Something’s wrong. 

“You gonna throw up, aren’t you?” 

“Huh?” 

This time, even though it’s unfocused, Tom’s eyes are staring at a random spot. More precisely, the spot where her body was before she shifted to the side with a warm blanket on her hands and a worried look at his direction. 

“No, I’m not,” He says with a smile. “Just thinkin’ how Raul really was a son of a bitch.” 

“Still?” 

“He was a lucky son of a bitch, though,” Tom explains, trying to manage his underwear among his fingers to dress it up. “Was he a good kisser at least?” 

When Tom’s body inches to the left dangerously, Y/N runs to him — the blanket long forgotten at the end of the bed as she knees down on the floor, taking the underwear onto her own hands. 

“Fuck, Tom.”

She tries to pass the waistband up his feet correctly and Tom is still taken aback by her words. What the heck? 

Another hiccup comes suddenly, a warm sensation soothing the left side of his chest and quickly travelling down to the center of it. Soon, it’s burning his entire upper half with a feeling he can’t describe; he doesn’t want to describe. Tom’s been doing great by avoiding it everytime if came up, but further than that, it flew down to his lower stomach and found home on it, building a light coil unconsciously. 

“Let me do this.” He says flatly, trying to recover his senses and grabbing the waistband himself, pushing it up hurriedly. 

“You can’t even stand up, shithead,” Y/N fights back, slapping his hands away but Tom is quicker to drag his body farther onto the bed. “Will you stop?” 

His breath gets caught, the air stuck on his lungs and fighting to come out as he insists on holding it back — because there is Y/N, taking his wrists and pinning them down on each side of his body and down on the mattress. Tom can tell she’s growing impatient when she bites her lower lip twice before keeping it in between her teeth, the apple of her cheeks highlighting everytime she chews her lip strongly. And damn, she looks different. Good different, great different, he thinks. She’s dead mad at him for being bratty, but there’s something about the way Y/N looks down in there, insisting on taking care of his drunken body that gets his heart beating unpatterned. Maybe it’s the way her brows frown so sweetly, concentrated; or the way she looks up at him disapprovingly, but with an unspoken phrase of comfort — “you’re an idiot, but what wouldn’t I do for you?”. Perhaps, it’s about the way her careful hands are messily dressing him, the elastic waistband tightening his shins, going past his knees, thighs, upper thighs– 

“I’ll do the rest,” He comes back to reality, blinking twice and breaking out from the fairytale. “Here, come on up.” 

“No, it’s almost done,” It’s Y/N’s turn to have wrists gotten by Tom, who’s pulling her body up by them. “You can barely speak properly.” 

“I’m betta, love,” Tom gives her a warm smile, breathing deeply to keep his body in place — he fears his drunken state can’t work in his favour, but he fears his heart the most, that it might give him the strength to reach for her. He can’t. “Trust me, it’s fine.” 

“Why are you so damn stubborn?” 

“You’re stubborn!” 

“Shit, Tom, let me finish–”

“Y/N stop!” Tom’s voice falls an octave, coming out almost clear for the first time in the past 2 hours. “I’ll fucking do this, I don’t want you to see my dick.”

She stands up and her jaw falls, a silent laugh leaving her mouth with a sharp air exhaling through it. Her hands flies to her waist, cupping the flesh covered by her favourite party dress as she watches Tom struggling to wear his briefs without taking the towel off. 

“I can’t see shit.” 

A few seconds of silence take over the room, but it feels like an eternity in their heads. Tom stares deep into Y/N’s eyes and she reciprocates, eyebrows lifted while she tucks her hair behind her ears.

“Ouch?!” He whines, as if she could see through the towel to pull up a joke like that. His mind wasn’t working at all. 

Y/N rolls her eyes and turns her back to him, walking to the end of the bed to grab the blanket and unfold the enormous flurry piece. She rambles, pretending to work more on the big white fabric as she gives him the time to get dressed. Tom stands up on his feet, shoving the underwear up and letting the waistband rest a little bit lower than it should be. The v–lines are prominent on his abs, leading to where his lower stomach starts to show up, where the coil is intensifying against his will.

The scent of her perfume and shampoo fills up the room, warning Tom that he won’t get rid of her even if she went away back home. Her delicate silhouette was standing there, back turned to him after a long night looking after his drunken stunts. They loved to party together, of course, but somehow her soberness hit her sooner while Tom was out there, trying drink after drink. 

She wanted to ask what was going on, what happened that made him look at her the entire party. Innumerable times Tom had been caught glancing at her, even far away on the kitchen while she was out there on the beer pong with their friends. And if she was out of sight, she was present in his mind, making him seek for her even though he feared what he would probably bump into. Yet, it felt more and more like a line had twirled a knot around his heart and the end of it was in hers — tied up like a pretty bow tie, because she would do a knot better than his. She always did everything better, Tom thinks.

Fancier, stronger, prettier, faster... Perfectly. She’s unique, nobody compares to her. 

When Y/N turns around, Tom has his fist shoved against his other palm, crackling his slender fingers as his biceps flex to the action. She offers him a tired smile, but genuine, from the heart. Tom knows what it means, denying her from the view of his defined body as he climbs onto bed like a baby. She doesn’t let the sight of his ass pass by, though — and if it was a good time, she’d tease him about how juicy his cheeks look in those Calvins, which would make him twitch harder inside his boxers but laugh in response, buying the play so she would never know how bad he wishes it could be true. 

When he’s finally resting, back pressed against the sheets and arm under his head, Y/N covers him with the heavy blanket. His stubborn ass left the sweats she threw at him long forgotten in the middle of the bed, but she wouldn’t fight it. Not today. If he gets a cold, she might chastise him tomorrow, she thinks. 

“Raul was a good kisser,” Y/N whispers, bringing the cover up to Tom’s chest. “This is how I kept him quiet.” 

“Fair enough,” Tom whispers back, grinning tiredly. “Smart of you.” 

Y/N winks at her best friend, smiling along with the boy she learned to deal with everytime he decided to play harder with the drinks. Tom turns to the side, looking up at her as he opens more space on his bed. 

What?

Y/N kinda freezes inside, wondering where the hell was this going to. It was a rule that they would never share a bed, it was set ever since they had to sleep over Harrison’s house one day and things got awkward. Their legs would touch here and there sometimes and it felt like torture. At the same time it was wrong, Tom wanted it to feel right so bad. He felt like it was right, but he didn’t know about Y/N, so it didn’t go further than that. They knew it had brought an uncomfortable atmosphere when they woke up the next day quieter than ever, after a long night of accidental touches. And they weren’t mischievous, or meant to tease, or whatever. The fact that they both had deeper thoughts about a simple graze made it all become heavier and bigger than it should be — and by deeper thoughts, they mean: what if ‘keep going’ is the right thing to do? 

“You have a pretty lower lip, Y/N,” Tom says with a tone very child–like, eyes blinking slowly. 

“Just the lower one?” She laughs, already familiar with the dork–drunken–Tom Holland. 

“No, the other one looks good too,” Dangerous confession. Fuck. “But lower lips are better to suck onto.” 

She tilts her head like a puppy, trying to understand where he was going, what was his point after all. Y/N gulps, lungs working a lot harder to keep the composure. 

“Raul was a lucky bastard,” Mumbling lowly, Tom eyes Y/N through his lashes. “I can imagine why he was always stuck with his mouth on yours.” 

“Can you?” 

“I always had that in mind.” 

“Raul and I kissing?” 

Tom giggles impulsively, nervously, as if he just heard the funniest joke of his entire existence. He only stops when the coil on his lower stomach starts to boil.

“Having my mouth stuck on yours.” 

Y/N finally takes her hands off the blanket, rubbing her palm against Tom’s head like he’s a puppy. She smiles at his smirk, heart beating so angrily she feared it was audible to him. 

“Good night, Tom.” 

“Hey,” Tom calls, deciding to offer her a better thing. “You can have Sam’s bed, he’s not coming home.” 

Y/N nods, curling the corner of her mouth up before pressing her lips together, fingers of both hands tangled in between each other. 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you!” He says. “I love you.” 

Turning off the lights, Y/N goes to the door and answers him genuinely. 

“I love you too.” 

As she leaves, closing the door behind her, Tom shifts in bed with that fucking dull ache all spread over his lower stomach, waves of excitement throbbing up and down unstoppably. With his right hand running down his muscles to the black boxers, he knew it would be another night with Y/N’s name on his mouth; the image of her intoxicating his imagination and the thought of what her whimpers would sound like if he had invited her to occupy the empty side of his bed; if she would’ve had accepted it to finally put to a proof if their touches were going to feel perfectly wrong, or deadly right.

Taglist: @outlandishnerd – @jillanaholland – @space-holland – @snowflakeparker – @tomhollandseverything

[drethanramslay]

OH2 Outfit Spoiler!! Anyways lol what if when Ethan sees MC in the Mass Kenmore scrubs he tries to get all technical and is like technically I’m not your boss cause I’m wearing an Edenbrook white coat and you’re wearing another hospitals scrubs 👀👀 lmao and they end up role playing or something. Just a thought

Grip (Ethan x MC)

Pairing: Ethan X MC (Leah Garcia)

Warning: PG, Fluff, Humour

Tagging: @miyakokurono

Song: Grip by Alec Bailey

Author's note: When I saw the above ask I was inspired to write a short drabble 😬 so here it is-

"We have to infiltrate the enemy. So go put on your war paint, fellow comrades and make Edenbrook proud." Bryce, said with so much conviction that it gave Leah goosebumps.

"Um, scapel jockey, in case you noticed, it is just a stake out to find more information not a 'Jason Bourne' action sequence and secondly, its just like one person going in." Jackie pointed out, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

"It just in the details, nose wipe." Bryce just waved her off.

"So the question is, who is going in?" Ethan asked, leaning against the wall, checking the time. The more time he spent here, the more he felt his brain cells die.

"Well I can't go because I have my college friends working there. They would instantly recognise me because admit it, who is gonna forget this face." Bryce said as he pointed to his face.

"God Bryce, for the love of God, Focus." Leah said as she massaged her temple.

Jackie looked down at her pager and sighed. "Well, I can't really go because Mr. Rodriguez from room 502 is pretty unstable. So, I will have to stay the night so that he can make it."

"What about Sienna? Elijah?" Leah asked. "Sienna is busy with Mitch in another case and Elijah has gone to visit his parents." Jackie answered.

"Guess, Lee-Lee is gonna take one for the team." Bryce said.

Lead grimaced. She hated that nickname and she had told that to Bryce innumerable times, but did it work?

Nope.

Leah just sighed. There was no use fighting over it. As much as she loathed to see Landry's rat face, she had to do this for the patients. If she didn't, then it would go against the Hippocratic Oath she swore.

"Fine. You guys owe me big time."

"Wonderful. Follow me Leah. I might have something that might help give you an advantage." Ethan said, as he turned towards the door of the dingy supply closet. "Do me proud Lee -Lee. I be- leaf in you." Bryce said. Jackie just slapped his shoulder while Leah groaned. She swore that Bryce was just a five year old stuck in a man's body.

Leah waved Jackie and Bryce goodbye as she stepped out into the hallway and quickly hurried behind Ethan.

They stepped into Ethan's office. She stopped to look at the many accomplishments which decorated the walls of his office. She also spotted a picture of Ethan with Jenner, who was a very good boy.

"Here." Ethan handed the red scrubs and the doctor's coat which had Mass Kenmore's logo on it. Leah whistled lowly. "Oooh how did you score this?"

"Someone there owed me a favor." Ethan said as he shrugged.

"Are you like Lucifer Morningstar? Granting favours and then in turn they owe you?" Leah asked with a small smirk.

"Lucifer who?"

"You don't know? That tv show where- you know what, forget it. Where do I change?" Leah asks as she takes the scrubs.

"Here."

Leah almost dropped the pile of clothes and blushing profusely at the thought of being naked in front of the older doctor. She had not forgotten the way they had made love on the window of his penthouse. Or how he took her from behind the night of the hearing. How his blue eyes pierced into hers, as he kissed down the valley of her breasts.

Snap out of it LEAH.

She cleared her throat, "Um excuse me?" Her voice squeaky, betraying her.

Ethan turned to her and she swore that she saw a ghost smirk. "C'mon Leah its nothing I haven't seen before." She just playfully shoved him.

"Shut up asshole." She muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"That's what I thought." Ethan said with a half smirk.

Leah headed to the bathroom adjacent to ethan's office. She changed quickly, and combed her fingers through her hair.

She stepped out just as ethan was sliding his green jacket on. "You ready?" Ethan asked as he fixed the collar of the jacket.

Leah looked at the white v-neck he was wearing which scooped low to show off his collarbones. If there was one thing that was her weakness, it was collarbones.

I just want to lick them.

"Um yeah." She cleared her throat and put her hands on her waist, in a superman pose. "I was born ready baby."

Ethan just shook his head and muttered, "Why do I even put up with your clownery?"

She stepped towards him, "Admit it, your life would be dull without my positive ray of humour."

"Okay sunshine. Lets move." Ethan said as he pointed towards the door.

Leah stopped in her tracks. "Was that...a nickname I heard? Has Ethan Jonah Ramsey, officially lost it? Who thought I would live to see the day Dr . Ethan Ramsey calls me, a term of endearment??"

"Oh for the love of god-" Ethan groaned, and turned her by the shoulder and pushed her towards the door. Leah yelped but followed suit.

"Y'know, that as for the current moment, I am not your colleague." Leah mused, sending a smirk to Ethan. Ethan's step faltered.

"Leah..."

Leah turned around and faced him. His arms came to rest on her hips as she looked up at him with longing and yearning. "What? I am just stating facts-"

She was interrupted as Ethan pressed his lips to hers, kissing her so passionately that Leah couldn't help but gasp. He slowly pushed her to the wall, and deepened the kiss.

The kiss was passionate, a fight for dominance, where nobody seemed to win. Leah's knees became weaker as Ethan's hands roamed around her body, memorizing each and every curve.

They would have continued kissing, if they didn't require air to breathe. Ethan leaned back, and rested his head against Leah's forehead, catching his breath.

His stormy blue eyes met Leah's warm brown, chocolately orbs. He gave a small smirk, "Since we are stating facts let me state one. If we don't make a move in the next five seconds, we might not be able to leave this office for the next two hours."

Leah gave a breathless laugh. "Two hours only? Damn Ethan you have gone weak." She patted on his chest, with mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Gotta work on that cardio."

Ethan's eyes narrowed and he reached down to squeeze her ass. Leah yelped and Ethan broke into a chuckle. Soon, Leah joined in.

"C'mon Rookie. We have a hospital to save."

Like and reblog:))

Damn I am on a role heheheh

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

ArShi OS: Illusion

Warning: Angst

Prompt by S-A (sweet anon)

can you please write an alternative ending to the fake honeymoon night following their sizzling, possessive dance

Illusion

Perception of something objectively existing in such a way as to cause misinterpretation of its actual nature.

“Now don’t start seeing dreams,” He whispered, her hand firmly in his grip. She looked at him, wondering why he thought she would see dreams about him, about them?

“How can I attach my dreams to you?” She lied through her teeth, praying her eyes didn’t deceive the innumerable nights she spent seeing his face, smiling at her - or God forbid - doing things she could’ve only imagined.

Of course, her dreams, like her heart, belonged to another. Her words went down like a bitter pill, he hadn’t been warning her at all. Arnav only needed to remind himself to not see the dreams he had carefully woven several nights ago.

“I’m doing this-”

“-for Di, me too.” It was moments like this that shut him up. Why would she care about his sister? Slowly, he nudged her to follow his move. She followed him, attached like a magnet. She couldn’t bear to look at his eyes, not when she knew she’d drown in them and he would do anything but save her. Her spine stiffened as her intuition warned her of another pair of eyes.

Disgust crawled her skin. Her grip tightened.

Arnav looked across, and found Shyam staring at the two of them. Even though Anjali was in his arms, he didn’t hide how annoyed he was to find Khushi in Arnav’s. Arnav stopped swaying, a realization settling in his throat like bile.

Oh that explains why Khushi wouldn’t even look at him. Or why she wasn’t even aware that he had stopped dancing.

Shyam had no right to look at his wife. Arnav Singh Raizada’s wife.

Khushi frowned as Arnav lifted her hands, nudging her to dance - with him. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Nor his. That he remembered there was a time when they used to walk the same steps, hand in hand, skin on skin.

With one tug she was thrown back to their historic Teri Meri performance. These were the same steps. It was as if they weren’t even dancing in the same hall. All she could see were him, and his blatant grasp on her body.

Despite her mind’s violation, her body eased with his as if they had never stopped dancing since that night. When he pulled her across the length of the room, she snapped out from the reverie and into a nightmare.

A delicious nightmare. The one that left you soaked with sweat, heart pounding, and a lover’s name on your lips.  

It was the same steps, but not the same man. Attraction was replaced by possession, love by passion, harmony by chaos, confession by silence. They were drunk, intoxicated from the memories of the last time they were so close, where his hand had slipped under her saree to feel her bare skin, where her fingertips had brushed against his stubble.

Tonight Khushi had made one mistake, to look into his eyes. Because once she did, she was unable to look at anything else. She was free falling, miles and miles into darkness, and everytime she thought she met death - she was pulled back into his arms.

Arnav gravitated towards her. What had started as possession was slipping into desire. God damn her eyes for latching onto his! He wanted to show she was his, but he only ended up rekindling the memories he thought he had forgotten.

No matter how many times he left her hands, she swiveled back into him, and for a fleeting moment he thought if she could feel the storm in him.

NO!

She crashed into him, hands gripping his shoulder, shaking. He looked at Khushi, confusions and questions pooling in those brilliant, hazel eyes. The eyes that stared at his lips.

Perhaps someone clapped, took them to their rooms - they don’t remember how they reached there.

Khushi rested her forehead against the door, hunger and desire taking a toll on her. She did not dare to open her eyes and take another step inside their room. No, she needed to leave before she forgot-

“Khushi?” Arnav watched her, standing eyes closed, fists clenched, right by the door. Did she not even want to see him?

After a moment, after he called her twice, she opened her eyes and stared at nothing.

It was dark.

His bruised pride and ego left him the minute she gasped. Khushi had nyctophobia. Her fingers flew to the wall, attempting to find the switches. His eyes, having adjusted to the darkness, could see most of the room.

Arnav reached her in two steps and tested the switches. Someone had cut the electricity.  He touched her shoulder and she shoved him back. A snarl was ready at the tip of his tongue until he saw that she was shaking.

“Jiji,” she whispered, like a child. She tried opening the doors but it refused to budge. Arnav tried to reach for her shoulder but stepped back, it could only frighten her further. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out to her.

“Khushi, it’s me,” if it made any difference.

Her hand shot out to grab his, it made all the difference.

“A-arnav.” She stammered. Sweat collected on her brow. His arm was stuck in her vice like grip.

“Yeah it’s me… I,” He was helpless. He had never dealt with any of her fears. How had she spent the night in Nainital?  

Arnav grabbed his phone and realised he doesn’t have it. Damn it!  

“Khushi, look at me.” Khushi stared at him.

“Breathe Khushi, breathe.” Khushi nodded, watching him as he took a deep breath. Khushi, when you’re afraid… think of something good. Payal’s words floated to her.

Khushi only saw the man before her, her worried Rajkumar. Who came in a white car, in his best suit, and drove all her fears away. The more her fear ebbed, the more her heart ached.

“Khushi, tum theek ho?” He was gentle, holding her shoulder as if she was made of glass.

Khushi broke down. Arnav reeled back, angry and helpless at once. He hated not knowing what to do. Khushi sank on her knees and curled by the door, sobbing uncontrollably.

It was not delicate, nor loud. It was the cry that broke his heart further than he thought her betrayal could. Her makeup ran down her face, her dupatta now a mess.

Just a day earlier he had flung that he would never believe her nor her tears, especially her tears. He would never give them the power to weaken him. But tonight, he would give anything to stop her sobs.

Because it was a cry of loss.

Khushi had given up, she could not pretend any longer. She tried so long to fight. From changing his room to tackling his every argument with a joke. But now she and her marriage were becoming a joke.

Arnav kneeled, trying to understand what in the world prompted her to cry.

“Khu-”

“I can’t… this marriage, I can’t.” In a few words, his world slipped beneath his feet.

Arnav grabbed her shoulders, “Don’t even think of breaking this marriage, don’t you know what I can do?”

“I do!” She cried, “and I can’t stay with-”

“-me.” He seethed, “I know where you want to stay-”

“-no.” She struggled against his grip, the darkness closing in on her, “I can’t stay with your anger, your concern, your hatred, your lo-” Arnav stepped back, burnt from her confession. If only there was light, she would’ve seen she wasn’t the only one with a broken heart.

“I’ll go mad.” She confessed, her breath coming out in shallow pants. Everything was too much, their marriage, dance, darkness and him.

She closed her eyes as her head swayed, exhausted. And probably she saw him, reaching out to her, holding her tight in his arms. Her hands clutched on his shirt, and she finally let herself go.

Arnav picked her in his arms, and quickly took her to bed. His heart cracked when her fist held on to the collar of his shirt. This time he relented. He was allowed to be selfish.

“I dream,” She mumbled as he held her hand. Arnav, warily inched towards her to brush her fringe away.

“I dream of you, so much.” Arnav stilled, his hand frozen mid air.

“Khushi, mein…” Arnav gulped as tears threatened to fall. At this point, he would’ve forgiven anything. Because for once, he had no idea what the truth could be. The night lingered on and Arnav stayed with her, by the bed, praying that morning never came.

Sleep finally took over him and he never realised when he had slipped right next to her.

She could’ve sworn she felt a ‘sorry’ brush against his forehead.

He could’ve sworn that she pulled him a little closer.

But then she had also heard him once say that she looked good in green.

But then he had also seen her desperate to know if he had bought the bangles for her.  

It was just an illusion.

And if either had opened their eyes, they would’ve seen the tears that contradicted so.

A/N: So sorry, I know this was supposed to be smut, but I couldn’t help and veer towards angst. This is mostly Khushi’s p.o.v and I tried to take her nyctophobia into consideration. Hope you liked this! #kyundardhaiitna 

[relapseblog]

Dear Father: A Letter I will Never be Able to Send...

I’m unsure how to begin this. I don’t know what words to use. I don’t think there is an adequate or befitting way to compose a thesis or introduction. However, I do have a vague notion of the thoughts I’d like to convey.

I am hurt. I’ve existed in a state of superposition for as long as I can remember; simultaneously occupying space in two separate but parallel realities. One is authentic, one that is insincere. Within the authentic reality I suffer perpetual agony. Within the insincere reality I function through enactment of a false display so skilled that I at times even fool myself, forgetting that my authentic reality is one typified by anguish. To a slightly lesser degree, this remains true today.

Since before I was even born the story of how I would come to exist in such a state was beginning to transpire. You abused my mother ever since the two of you first became associated until the day she took us and escaped from you. You once threw her onto a bed where my baby big brother lied, proceeding to wrap your hands around her throat asphyxiating her, whilst at the same time suffocating infant Trey under her body weight being forcefully pressed against him. You could’ve killed not only my mother, but your infant son as well. This is just one of many incidents of this kind that I’ve been told of. I am certain for each story of your iniquity I’ve been told there exists another three.

I don’t have detailed memories of the cruel torment you imposed on my mother. I have very few fractured memories of the vile things you said and did to her. what I do remember are the feelings of confusion, anger, helplessness, fear, and heartache. Feelings that I’ve carried with me my entire 25 years of life. Feelings so excruciating they placed me on a path of self-destruction where thrice I’ve attempted to kill myself, where I’ve wished for death innumerable times, where I’ve incalculably deliberated killing myself whilst writhing in tears and pain. Feelings that I wanted desperately to banish from my mind. At the tender age of 13 I became a heroin addict who would wish silently every time she stuck a needle in her veins that this would finally be the fatal shot she’d been waiting for. That this would finally be the shot that would end her lifelong torment she’d been subjected to.

It was also around this age I ceased believing in God. I did not believe that I would go to Heaven upon my death; I was not hoping to escape this world seeking refuge in a better place, I was hoping to be annihilated. To cease to exist. As though I’d never existed at all. I’d fantasize about my lifeless body going cold, then stiff, the bloating and changing colors, then beginning the process of decomposition until there would be no remaining trace of evidence that I was ever a living organism that existed on Earth. These thoughts strangely elicited a sense of comfort. But accompanying them were thoughts of how my mother and the rest of my family that loved me would feel. These thoughts were painful. Even more painful were the thoughts I’d have regarding you. I’d think to myself that if I were to die you would never even know, that if you did somehow find out you wouldn’t care because you don’t love me. The comforting images in my mind of my death did not stay comforting for very long before the accompanying thoughts made me feel worse than I previously had. Self-hatred ensued.

Before becoming a heroin addict often I’d dream of you at night. You’d come to where we lived in Iowa to visit me and Trey. Despite the fact she abhorred you and feared you my mother always graciously let you stay out your visit in our home so Trey and I could spend as much time with you as possible. You had missed us, you were happy to be with us, we were happy to be with you too. These dreams were extremely vivid. I would wake from my slumber, eagerly searching the house looking for you only to find that it was just a dream. This was very painful. I had variations of this dream at least twice weekly for four years. Eventually I stopped searching for you upon waking up, as I had accepted that it was merely a dream. Just as I had accepted that you didn’t give a fuck about me or Trey. I mean, you didn’t give a fuck about Aaron either; it was a bit narcissistic of me to believe that I was somehow any more important.

I’d always hated you for what you’d done to my mother; it’s unforgivable what you did to her, and she deserved none of the cruelty she suffered by your hands. For this, I have hated you all my life. I’ve also hated you because during my childhood in California and Illinois you never had a job, you never tried to help support our family, you were never a man. Rather you let my mother run the streets day and night committing illegal acts putting herself and our family in jeopardy because you were a lazy piece of shit. For these two things, I have always hated you. But it was during this time in my life, around age 13, that I started to hate you for what you did to me. Even thought I hated you for what you did to my mother and for what you did not do for our family I still loved and admired you. In my eyes you were strong, intelligent, wise. I loved you with the most unconditional love that anyone could ever have for another person. And you never came to see me. I just wanted to see you. To hug you. But you never came. I hate you so much for that. I loved you so much. No matter what you did wrong I always loved you. Despite my belief that you were evil I still loved you. But you didn’t love me. So, I buried it deep inside.

The first time I ever used heroin I felt brand new, reborn, like I had been recreated by this substance into someone I could never even have dreamed of being. I felt exalted. I felt warm. I felt happy. I felt safe. I felt loved. I felt serenity. Every ill thought and feeling instantly vanished. It felt as if I had been cleansed and anointed by the God I no longer believed in. There was no  more pain. I was unbound, infinite. As I continued to inject heroin into my veins day in and day out I found that I no longer had those painful dreams in which you loved me only to wake and be faced with the fact that you didn’t. For a while everything finally felt okay, better than okay. Exceedingly better than okay. Heroin comes to you as everything you could ever want to possess and own for yourself. But that’s the thing about heroin, you can’t own it, rather it owns you. I soon spiraled downward at an exponential rate and became slave to this cruel and beguiling master. i no longer had free will. My thoughts and actions were no longer mine. I now existed only to seek and use heroin. And I was still a child.

Injecting heroin every day, typically multiple times a day, continued until I was 19 years old. But I couldn’t live as a sober individual. I didn’t know how. Aside from the lifelong pain you inflicted upon me, now I had damaged my brain irreparably with heroin. Serotonin and dopamine were no longer being synthesized correctly in my brain, leaving me extremely depressed and angry all the time. I became violent like you. Moreover, the person I was at this point was someone I hated; someone I was ashamed of. I no longer recognized who I was. In my mind I was a filthy, immoral, lowlife scourge upon the Earth who had done nothing but degrade my own self and sadden, disappoint, and horrify my family to no end. I viewed myself as innately bad; I even went so far as to say to myself that I was evil. Because of the anger and rage I harbored I thought I was just like you. Which to me was the worst thing possible. I’d rather be like anyone, like anything, rather than be like you.

Even though I quit using heroin I continued to use methamphetamine and by the age of 23 I had relapsed on heroin too. Also at the age of 23 I got arrested for the first time. Then I was arrested again. And again. And again. The last time I was arrested I decided I needed to change. I was, and still currently am, in school studying criminal justice and psychology. Despite my deteriorated mental health, I always yearned to by successful. To graduate college, have a career, make my mother proud. I had spent half of my life putting her through a living Hell that I’ll never be able to comprehend. She has always felt that my addictions, my feelings of confusion, anger, helplessness, fear, and heartache, my wish for death, was all her fault. My wonderful mother whom I owe nothing less than everything believes that she has failed as a parent.I need to prove to her that she didn’t fail. If I succeed she will believe that she has succeeded. So, I quit using methamphetamine and I quit using heroin. My goal in life, my purpose for living, is to make her proud. To instate within her an overwhelming feeling of joy, success, and peace.

I have been clean and sober now for almost two year, though not without a couple of brief and minor lapses along the way, I am very proud of myself. I have not allowed these lapses to dishearten me or lead me to believe that the time I have managed to remain clean is null and void. I am affording myself grace. I am relearning how to live life. I have come to realize that I am not a bad, immoral, or evil person. I am simply a product of my upbringing which was less than favorable and of no fault of my own; though I also know that it is on me to become better, and that my past is not an excuse to continue to choose to be a bad person. I’ve come to realize that the circumstances of my birth and upbringing are not things that I can allow to define who I am and who I become. I’ve come to realize that my suffering is not in vain. I can help others who suffer as I have.

I am a heroin addict and a meth addict. This is something I must continue to manage and will continue to struggle with for the rest of my life. There is no cure for addiction. There is no cure for my bipolar disorder either. I am permanently afflicted, but I am not worthless, bad, immoral, or evil. I am a strong woman, but at the same time I am a very sad and broken little girl.

Last night (the other night at this point) I had that dream again for the first time in probably 12 years. I was little. Trey was little. Mother was gracious. You were with us. We were happy. I woke up wailing with tears streaming down my face as I placed my hands on top of my head and pulled my hair tight into my fists. All the painfully familiar confusion, anger, helplessness, fear, and heartache came flooding back. I wanted to run. I wanted to get high. I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. I went to work that night at the emergency youth shelter here in Des Moines on overnight shift. All the boys on my unit were sound asleep throughout the entire night. I was alone in an eerily silent dimly lit room. I sat there a cried virtually all night because of you. Yet again, all the confusion, anger, helplessness, fear, and heartache resurfaced.

I don’t think these feelings, which are the product of being witness to the horrible things you did to my mother, will ever leave me. They are a permanent part of me. This is what you’ve given to me rather than love. Where your love was supposed to go, instead you have placed confusion, anger, helplessness, fear, and heartache. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with these things aside from using them to help others who feel similar things. But that still does not tell me what I am supposed to do with them when I dream of you, or when I am crying all alone for hours in pain because no matter how much I hate you I can’t unlove you. I wish I could. Living would be a lot easier if I could.

I used to view you as strong, intelligent, wise. I cannot say that this perspective has changed entirely. I will think that you are intelligent to a certain degree. My mother used to refer to you as a “smart dumb motherfucker.” To me this is an accurate statement. You’re intelligent, but mindless. I no longer view you as strong. You succumbed so easily to the vile and sordid influences of this world, being whisked away by them falsely thinking they somehow made you powerful. That they made people respect you. That they gave you control. Fact of the matter is that you were too weak to fight to retain your moral humanity, so you forfeited it. You had no power, respect, or control. You allowed the depravity of this world to control you thus becoming depraved yourself. Though I once thought you to be evil I never thought you to be ignorant to what a proper sense of morality was. I know you understand right from wrong, yet you could never summon the willpower to make the right decisions. Your trepidation of fear and lack of strength always prevailed.

In my eyes today you are a coward. You are a coward for your acts of violence and abuse toward my mother. You are a coward for being too ashamed to attempt to reconcile with the children you have forsaken. You are a coward for being too afraid to turn inward to fix whatever it is that’s inside of you that makes you so angry, calloused, and violent. To my dismay I am quite a bit like you. I’ve got your temper. I’ve got your rage. I had begun to become cold and calloused like you. I’ve got your propensity for violence. But the difference between me and you is this, I am no coward. I will admit that once I was afraid to turn inward and look at myself for who and what I was. I was afraid of what I would see. I was afraid of having to deal with the horrible things that I’ve done. I was afraid of having to relive moments from my past that I’d tried for so long to banish from my mind. Most of all, I was scared to think too critically about you. But none of this is true today. Unlike you, I am brave. Unlike you, I am strong enough to not allow this, at times, cruel world to corrupt me. Unlike you, I am not afraid of the pain associated with accountability and personal growth. I would much rather endure that pain than be forced to endure the pain of self-destruction. I would much rather endure that pain than become a monster who inflicts the pain I feel inside upon others.

I know that you were, and probably still are, in pain too. Hurt people hurt people. It isn’t an excuse for one’s shitty actions, it’s merely a fact. I no longer think that you are evil. At least not by some sort of malign nefarious nature. Any evil that exists within you is present not because you’re innately malevolent, rather it’s because you relinquished your control over the one and only thing you did have control over. Yourself. I can’t speculate much more than this about you. You’re a person shrouded in mystery and I think that I’ve finally accepted that I don’t have to fully comprehend the reasons for your actions and inactions.

I hate you. I love you. I hate myself for loving you, but I am learning to be gentle and kind with myself because regardless of anything you were my father. Regardless of how cruelly you treated my mother, regardless of your lack of ambition and failure to provide, and regardless of the fact that you abandoned me and Trey, for a short time when I was a small child you were an active and doting father to me. You made me feel like a beautiful and powerful princess in a world that does not readily subscribe beauty, power, nor prestige to black women and girls. You encouraged me in everything I did. You taught me many things that I carry with me to this day and will continue to carry with me for the rest of my life. This is the person I love unconditionally. The person that I’ve mourned the loss of for 16 long years who exists now only in my memory.

The person who victimized and tormented my mother for years without remorse as her two small children witness it crying a pleading that it stop, the person who failed to ever contribute to society and help provide for his children, the person who so easily cast his children aside, the person who seemed to delight in feeling evil. That person is not my father. That person is someone that I’ve had the grave misfortune of knowing. That person is someone that I’ve allowed to wreak havoc on my life for as long as I can remember. I don’t love that person. i abhor that person. That person is the exemplification of everything I never want to become. That person is who I fear every day that I will become because he is the reason for my anger, hostility, and predisposition for destruction and violence. That person is the cause of my greatest everlasting sorrow. That person is you.

For what you’ve done only God can forgive. If there is a God I pray that you find serenity and peace that you’ve never known on Earth. If God doesn’t exist and annihilation follows our death, then I hope that you somehow manage to make peace with yourself before death. I know pain, and it is not something anyone should have to carry with them to the grave. Not even you, Arcell.

[out-of-this-dimension]

The Star Fox Adventures Game Manual -- Analysis

So, you may remember a few months back, I received a lot of hate mail on AO3 and FF.net for a fic that I posted that I’ve since taken down in hopes of redoing someday.  The hate was largely from people who don’t like Panther (the fic was Krystal x Panther) but a lot of their arguments were attempts to debunk how “canon” my fic is.  With a lot of my fics, I don’t stray too far from canon, but I do fill in “gaps” with my own headcanons.  I feel like the SF series is a comfortable enough blank slate to do that.  Mild spoilers for future fics, but one of these headcanons is that Panther is Cerinian.  I’ve actually covered this headcanon previously on my blog but I’m too lazy to look up the link.  

One of the arguments my “secret admirer” tried to make about how my fic “contradicts canon” is that “Well, Panther can’t be Cerinian because the Star Fox Adventures manual says that Krystal is the sole survivor.” (and then they made a hate fic about how my headcanon of Panther being Cerinian couldn’t possibly work, but that’s a story for another time).

Admittingly, I hadn’t looked at the manual in most of a decade, so that little tidbit escaped my memory.  But honestly, with Cerinian OCs flying around left and right in the fandom, I thought it was an odd piece of info to nitpick about.  Regardless, it sparked some intrigue, so I decided to poke around the internet and lo and behold, I found a PDF copy of the manual.  Since it’s been a long while since the last time I read the manual, I decided to do an analysis on it.  Analysis with pictures under the cut!

This is the “prologue” of Star Fox Adventures and while it’s all good and dandy, I want to point out three very important things-- 1. Peppy retired at this point, not after Krystal showed up. I mean, this is relatively minor but I thought it was noteworthy that our Barrel-Roll Loving Team Dad was already going to be retired before the “next SF game”-- whatever that would have been, though I’m fairly certain Assault’s development launched right at the heels of Adventures, if not while Adventures was in late development still. 2. Slippy apparently traded in his pilot’s wings to become a mechanic, which is... blatantly ignored in both Assault and Command because while he does mechanic-like stuff (playing off of his role as the “team smartie pants”), he still very much is a pilot. 3. Falco left because he was bored is only a rumor.  I know “Farewell Beloved Falco” tackles this to a degree. I want to also note that this inspired me to re-read Farewell Beloved Falco on Monday and there’s no real point in the manga that says Falco left because he was bored (I have my own speculation as to why he left but I’ll save that for later).  I find it really odd that the manual says Falco “simply disappeared”, when he very clearly left with great bravado at the end of the manga.  He didn’t vanish into the night or anything, like this would imply.  He said he was going to go solo for a bit and flew off after the Titania Incident.  It... feels like maybe there was a miscommunication here between who was giving the person writing the manual details.

This is the Character Bio page, which, to my secret admirer’s glee, does contain the info that Krystal is the only survivor of Cerinia.  It also name drops Cornerian Weapons R&D, which has also never been heard of before or since this manual. I actually searched excessively for more mentions about this and yielded no results.  Curious.  I had never noticed that and assumed Slippy had just been tinkering on stuff for fun.  Also oof, my heart at ROB being considered a full-fledged SF member.

I’m going to skip over the parts I don’t have any commentary on.  

So it’s pretty clear from the final product that Rareware had no idea what they were doing with the SpellStones.  They clearly absorb magic from the planet to keep the planet from falling apart (which says to me that this is not the planet’s natural state but I’ve talked about that before so I’ll spare you the ramble).  But what was going on with them is really unclear.  I understand that Dinosaur Planet gives a better explanation of the SpellStones but that purpose does not seem to be canon any longer.

The text here implies that Scales has every single SpellStone in his possession (the Queen EarthWalker ALSO states he removed the SpellStones himself).  Yet, when you make it into the game...

(Special note: I found this pic on Google and the file was called “Asshole”, which, tbh isn’t inaccurate but it gave me a chuckle so I thought I’d share it.)

Scales doesn’t possess all of the SpellStones.  Drakor, a mutant in Scales’s army, guards the one at Dragon Rock-- we can assume Scales is responsible for that.  The King RedEye has been fitted with one in his head-- we can assume Scales is responsible for that.  But past that? We find Scales in the CloudRunner Fortress treasury with the first Ocean SpellStone, which he has clearly just found.  And the entire point of DarkIce Mines, the entire reason the SnowHorn are enslaved, is because Scales is looking for the SpellStone.  Which says to me that the SpellStone wasn’t even removed by him.  He wouldn’t have had to enslave the entire tribe to go digging for it otherwise.  He wouldn’t have had to lay siege to CloudRunner Fortress either.

So this entire plot point is absolutely inconsistent to what’s in the manual and even... in the game. What is the reasoning behind this?  Probably the innumerable plot changes during SFAdv’s development.

With the fortunate release of the Dinosaur Planet ROM and the creation of the Warlock Engine by Hugo Peters, a lot has been uncovered in terms of how Dinosaur Planet would have originally looked like.  Dark Ice Mines, for instance, was actually meant to connect via the SnowHorn Wastes (or, Northern Wastes) via a small cave entrance on the other side of the river near where one finds Garunda Te.  The cave still exists in the finalized version of the game but leads to no where.  

However, with Star Fox being added in, I think Rare felt the need to add in things that made the game feel a bit more in line with the Star Fox series.  The planet pieces being torn apart was a way to shove in Arwing sections of the game.  And the devs needed a reason for the change in the planet’s state... and what’s a better throwaway reason than “it’s just magic, bruh”?  So the SpellStones, being focal points in the game’s story, were changed to being part of the reason for the planet falling to pieces. That led to DarkIce Mines, despite having a basically completed map, getting yoinked from the planet’s surface and tossed into space, meaning the entrance was sealed.  The reason for all of this was handwaved into “Oh, Scales did this because he removed the stones” without... the game actually reflecting much of that at all because most of it had been made with a different story in mind.

I think Rare did this hoping that no one would look at the plot too closely but uh oh, that didn’t happen.  And if you need further proof that this was all a bit of an “oopsie” on Rare’s part, you need not look much further than DarkIce Mines once more.  Belina Te has a small throwaway line about how her father hid the SpellStone in the mines.  She says something to the effect of “He didn’t say where he hid it, only that it was somewhere safe” which is code for “Yeah lol I stuck this important object crafted by the gods into the claws of a giant monstrosity but it’s w/e”.  Maybe he was hoping that Galdon would protect it from Scales.  I mean, it’s not a bad thought, really...

But the fact that the game seems to imply Scales has all the stones is still technically wrong.  Now, because I think about these things a little TOO much, here’s my theory as to how this could have technically worked: All the SpellStones are placed in the same spot, you just traverse different routes (The Force Point Temples) to reach that spot. The only way I could see Scales making out with 2 out of 4 SpellStones is that there was a battle between the SharpClaw and the other dinosaurs at the central point where the SpellStones are located and General Scales was only partially successful.  Which could very well be the case, but, unfortunately, the manual and game seem to not act as though this is the case...

tl;dr for that section: This literally makes no sense no matter how you slice it and sure, you can come up for reasons that things ended up this way but ultimately, the game is conflicting with itself about its own story.  But let’s move on.

Apparently atmospheric conditions are so powerful on Sauria that it can interrupt communications, which I thought was a neat lore tidbit.  

So I got 2 things from this tidbit about Saurian.

1. This language is called “relatively new”, even though it’s existed for thousands of years, which feels like a contradiction?  A quick Google search estimates English has been around for 1400 years, to put that into perspective and I think English is considered to be fairly new compared to other languages, but I’m honestly not too terribly learned on that.  Of course, that’s only viewing this through the lens of someone who lives on Earth.  Having a language around in the Lylat System only for “a few thousand years” makes me wonder how long the older languages have existed?  It’s quite possible that a few thousand years isn’t a long lifespan for a language in this universe.  

2. Who were these off-worlders?  And boy do I have theories.

Theory 1. The Krazoa.  They are seemingly the gods to the dinosaurs and speak the same language.  This could mean that they taught the dinosaurs this new language.  It would fit the bill for their portrayal in this game. They are godlike entities, the dinosaurs do revere them... it makes sense.  

Theory 2. The ones who taught the dinosaurs how to talk were the Cerinians. There is mild evidence for this with Krystal understanding Dino Speak without a translator despite being new to the planet (evidenced by the fact the CloudRunner had to explain the Krazoa to her/some dialogue bits about her learning of General Scales/the brief exposition we get about her searching the Lylat System for answers).  You could argue this is due to her telepathy - she could just simply be talking in a way that the dinosaurs can understand but I don’t think Krystal’s telepathy had been firmly established as part of her character at this point (she had the ability to leave telepathic messages onto her staff and she could channel magic into Andross, but her true telepathy powers weren’t really shown until Assault).  Krystal’s staff also seems strangely in-tune with Sauria, which I’ve theorized about previously.  I’m mostly thinking on the Magic Caves that are conveniently scattered on Sauria.  It could be that Cerinians had built the shrines within the Magic Caves to help their descendants out if they ever showed up to Sauria.  So, I guess the tl;dr version is “Maybe the Cerinians had previously been on Sauria and had established the Magic Caves and had taught the dinosaurs their native language?” 

To summarize my thoughts, the manual is a reflection of SFAdv itself- riddled with weird plot inconsistencies that you can almost fudge reasons/logic to cover but some of it feels like stretches for the sake of making plot make sense.  There’s some contradictions in the lore/story but despite that, there’s still interesting tidbits to be found.  

If anything, this booklet kind of validates my feelings from the post I made about canon awhile back.  Not all of the canon makes sense when you nitpick it to death.  When the source material conflicts with itself, you’re not going to win a “this is canon because x and y, etc” because... well... the story itself doesn’t even seem to know what’s canon.

Additionally, canon is something derived partially from people’s own experiences.  Two people can consume the same media and come to different conclusions and that’s fine.  We don’t need to have these tired debates about whose interpretation of canon is better.  We just need people to understand that while their interpretation may fit them but it may not fit everyone.  And that’s why, as I have begun doing Fanon Hot Take posts, I keep that disclaimer up.  I don’t wanna say “My opinion of how to interpret canon/fanon is the best opinion” because that’s stupid. There is no definitive “best” because it’s all subjective.  But people get into their own feelings so much about their interpretations and that’s when we have these debates of “well, my idea is better than yours”.  Then people try to dismantle each other instead of just appreciating the different ideas being brought to the table.  And it’s exhausting.

Frankly, I don’t ever think Panther being Cerinian will be canon.  But Nintendo has not, as of this date, said he’s not.  But that’s my interpretation of his character until Nintendo gives us more to go off of.  And if my interpretation bothers someone enough that they decide to send me harassment over it, then that’s on them.  I will not be apologizing for my interpretations, even if they do go against the grain.  It’s a pity people like that exist, that would rather tear at others than try to just enjoy the content that appeals directly to him but alas, they are not the first person to be like that and they will not be the last.

On a lighter note, while I am still bothered by this person going out of their way to be so spiteful, I want to thank them for inspiring me to look at the text.  It validated my feelings further and it made me realize how stupid the canon debate is.  I actually had a blast going back over this book and re-reading everything.  I hadn’t gotten to lay eyes on this booklet in years!  I really hope I get to do this for other SF games because a lot of these manuals have such hidden gems.

Thank you for reading this ramble/analysis!

[allisonireynolds]

You’re Safe Like Springtime

"Neil knew he was being followed approximately 24 minutes into his midday run." //// In which a dog rescues Neil, or Neil rescues a dog, but in the end, Andrew ends up with someone to protect him for a change.

/Title from Troye Sivan's Lucky Strike/

read on ao3

As someone who trains guide dogs and helps with therapy dogs, the idea of Andrew and Neil getting a therapy dog was always interesting to me, so i decided to write a thing. Andrew is always picking up people to protect, and for a change, i thought it would be nice if there was someone to protect him (besides neil, of course, but some days, it's better to not be around people, and dogs really help)

 / / / / / /

Neil knew he was being followed approximately 24 minutes into his midday run. The blonde woman poorly disguising herself as a suburban jogger mom with a ponytail, hat, and matching tracksuit had remained a careful twenty feet behind him longer than coincidence, but what really sealed the deal was her partner, the man who had been jogging about ten feet behind Jogger Mom. The park was full of so many jogging paths that Neil knew two people keeping his pace and following his trail couldn't just be a coincidence.

The problem was he didn't know who they were from. He'd been keeping up with his payments to Ichirou, so unless he wanted to get rid of one of his most valuable assets, there was no reason to believe he was behind the attack. Stuart was attempting to actually connect with Neil recently, as in form familial connections, so that didn't make sense either. The only one left was a straggler left behind from his father's empire. Stuart promised to take care of them, but that was a task akin to removing the sand from a beach. Nathan Wesninski had innumerable amounts of henchmen and thrice the amount of enemies. Which meant they were all stuck hating Neil.

"Some people just don't get the memo," Neil muttered to himself, taking a sharp turn down a new path. He had all the park paths memorized, but he found himself taking the same one almost daily, which meant if these people were as good as the people who came before them, they would know exactly where he was headed. So he diverged.

He plunged through the trees, picking up his pace. Jogger Mom swore, running after him, shouting to her partner. His suspicions had been right. Neill tore through the terrain, switching directions seemingly randomly, but he knew exactly where he was going.

In the corner of his brain that wasn't screaming RUN in his mother's voice, he tried to figure out where Andrew was. It was around 1 which meant he was probably getting home from the gym about now. Neil would not lead these two would-be-assassins to his house, one of the few remaining safe places he had left. Andrew. He would not lead them to Andrew.

He could already picture Andrew's reaction to the situation. He was stupid for not bringing his phone. But if he had, they probably would've tracked it anyway, so maybe it was a good thing. Neil cut down another path and was suddenly spit out onto a busy street. Immediately, he stopped running and controlled his breathing. He tried to blend with the people streaming down the sidewalk, trying to melt into the hustle and bustle of the city. Jogger Mom and Partner skidded to a stop on the sidewalk behind him, breathing heavily. Partner swore again and spoke into an earpiece. So they did have more backup. No doubt waiting for the signal to move in and grab Neil while he was in the park.

As Neil passed by a tourist kiosk, he quickly snatched a hat and pair of sunglasses off a rack while the store owner was busy haggling with a customer and yanked a shirt off a hook without looking at the sizing. As he walked, he pulled the shirt on, it was too big, but it would throw the would-be kidnappers off. Next, he slid the sunglasses on and pulled the cap down low.

He could still hear Jogger Mom and Partner behind him. They probably didn't see him, but this street was easy to follow, so if he didn't step up, things would suddenly get a lot harder.

His salvation came in the form of a small noise from a scummy alley he was passing by. Peering down, Neil noticed a red leash leading into a large, taped shut cardboard box. Quickly, glancing over his shoulder, he crouched and nudged the box a little. The weight inside shifted, and then again when he had pulled his hand back. Whatever was in that box was alive.

Yanking back the tape, while still being hyper-conscious of his surroundings, Neil opened the box. Before it was fully open, the thing inside burst forward. Neil braced himself to jump back, but instead, the dog scrambled out of the box and sat in front of him, tail wagging on the ground. She seemed to grin at him slightly.

Neil's limited knowledge of dogs told him three things: one, she was still young, with the gangly look of a puppy, two, she looked like a lab, but different. The best way Neil could describe it was more boxy. And three, wherever she came from hadn't been a healthy environment. But he didn't really need dog knowledge for that. For starters, she had been taped inside a box in an alley, and second, a large, wicked looking cut ran down the left side of her face, her left eye was sealed shut, Neil wasn’t even sure there was an eye left, but there was too much blood and… crust for him to check. Also, he was on a time crunch. Jogger Mom and Partner were probably almost on top of him by this time.

The cut didn't take away from her friendly looking face and she seemed to like Neil enough, judging from the wagging tail, so he made a decision quickly.

"You help me and I'll help you, ok?" He asked the dog, picking up the leash. The dog smiled up at him and he couldn't help but smile back.

Pulling the cap lower on his face, Neil stepped out of the alley and immediately almost froze. Jogger Mom and Partner were about five feet away from him, back facing him, looking across the street. Quickly, but without rushing, Neil steered himself and the dog away from Jogger Mom. The best way to get away from them would be to get behind them. And lucky for him, they were looking for the son of a serial killer, not some badly dressed millennial walking his dog. And Jogger Mom wouldn't be looking for small details, she'd be rushed and possibly frantic after losing him. They wouldn't have expected him to change so quickly.

"I think I see him!" Jogger Mom hissed and Neil spun himself around and pretended to contemplate which magazine he should buy.

He was almost sure he was in the clear when a voice next to him said, "Nice dog." Neil peered out of the side of his sunglasses and felt his insides turn to ice when he saw Partner standing there. He nodded and mumbled thank you. Partner grabbed and paid for two bottles of water before chasing after Jogger Mom. Neil watched them disappear into the throngs of city goers and let out a breath.

"You're a miracle," he muttered down at the dog.

Half an hour later, he was unlocking the door to his apartment, dog in toe. Andrew didn't look up from his place on the couch, a tub of ice cream opened next to him with a spoon sticking out.

"You're late," Andrew said. Neil nodded, dumping his keys into the dish.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"You left your phone at home, dumbass," Andrew continued, finally looking up. Whatever he was going to say next died in his throat as soon as he saw the dog sitting at Neil's feet.

"What the fuck is that?" He deadpanned. Neil wrinkled his brow.

"She is a dog. And she's been very helpful, so I think I owe her a favor." Andrew looked at him incredulously.

"I think you need to start at the beginning."

After moving to the couch, Neil recounted the day's events to Andrew, whose face didn't betray the slightest hint as to what he was feeling.

"Did they touch you?" Andrew asked.

"They didn't even notice me after I got the dog," he said.

"That's not what I asked," Andrew stated, deadly calm. Neil looked him in the eyes.

"No. They did not touch me. And you can thank the dog for that."

"I think I can thank them for being incompetent kidnappers," Andrew retorted, still looking at dog disdainfully. She smiled at him with one eye.

"Andrew, we're safe." Neil could see the emotions hiding behind Andrew's eyes.

"Sure. Safe like springtime." He responded. Just like Spring, safety was a fleeting concept, never lasting forever. Bright and sunny weather during the Spring could change at the drop of a hat to biting winds and gray clouds.

"But we're safe now." Neil stared directly into Andrew's eyes.

Andrew tore his gaze away first and looked down at the dog. "What the fuck happened to her?" He asked, grabbing her face, albeit gently, to inspect the damage.

"I don't know," Neil said. "I found her in a box. I don't even know what breed she is, let alone her name."

"She's a lab-pit mix," Andrew supplied. Sometimes Neil wondered just how many things Andrew had memorized in his brain, other times, he didn't want to know.

"I figured I at least owed her a visit to the vet, to look at her eye," Neil supplied. Andrew cut him a look.

"I distinctly remember you saying something similar about the cats. And now we have two."

"But you like those two," Neil countered. "Plus, the dog really helped me out. I'd probably still be trying to lose them. She really added to the disguise." Andrew gave him a dead stare and Neil smiled. They both knew he was grasping at straws. "So are you coming with us or not?"

Andrew wouldn't let the dog in his car, so they had to take Neil's car. The good news: the vet said she would keep the eye. The damage was just on her face, but with the right antibiotics, the infection would die and she would be fine, aside from scarring.

"She'll fit right in with us," Neil joked sardonically.

More good-ish news: she wasn't microchipped and didn't fit the description of any missing dogs. That, paired with the fact she was found abandoned meant that she was adoptable. Once the vet tech told them this, Neil looked at Andrew hopefully.

"What do you think?" Neil asked. Andrew just rolled his eyes. "It'll be nice for the cats to have a new friend, and I'm sure she'd be great at watching the apartment while we have practice." Andrew sighed.

"Fine. But if she doesn't get along with the cats, she's gone." Andrew almost needed sunglasses after Neil beamed at him. The vet tech left for a moment to get the proper paperwork and medicine and Andrew looked between the dog and Neil.

"437%," he said. Neil smiled softly.

"Was that for the dog or me?" He joked. Andrew shoved him lightly.

"This means a lot, Andrew," Neil said. "She really helped me out today."

"Shut up," Andrew said. "This whole day was just a lucky strike." As soon as he said that, he regretted it.

"That's her name!"

"What?"

"Lucky strike!" Andrew felt his stomach roll.

"We are not having a dog named Lucky, like every single suburban family in the country," he said.

"Fine. We'll call her Strike then," Neil said, undeterred. Andrew could see there was no stopping him now.

"Fine. Her name is Strike."

The vet tech returned with the papers and Neil got to work signing and filling out information.

"You know, when she's all healed, this dog would be an excellent emotional support dog," she said to Andrew. He looked at her with bored eyes.

"What?"

"It's just… I volunteer with training emotional support dogs, for trauma victims or people with PTSD, and this dog shows excellent traits. If you want, I can give you a trainer's number?" She looked a little intimidated by Andrew, so Neil had to give her props for speaking to him.

"What do they do?" Andrew asked. His interest surprised Neil.

"Well," the vet tech was gaining confidence. "Usually they just help their specific person, but it isn't uncommon for that person to also take the dog to hospitals. Or, if you reach out to the right people and get the right certifications, you can bring her to meetings with children, like court hearings or meetings with foster families."

Andrew nodded. "I'll take the card."

Honestly, Neil didn't expect Andrew to take the emotional support dog thing very far. But after a few months, he was proven wrong. Andrew went to all the classes with Strike and taught everything to Neil when he got home so he would know too.

The vet tech was right about Strike. She was amazing at reading people's emotions, especially Andrew's, whom she had gotten particularly attached to, despite Andrew still pretending he didn't like her very much. Once, on one of Andrew's bad days, when Neil was giving him as much space as possible, he noticed Andrew staring at a blank wall, Strike's head on his lap, his hand gently fondling her ears.

At that moment, Neil felt so much love in his heart for both the man he loved and the dog they saved and who had saved him.

Andrew began to take Strike everywhere. As an emotional support dog, she was legally allowed anywhere, but Andrew didn't just stop at taking her to stores and a couple practices. He talked with Bee and she connected him with people got him into courts with children, often victims of abuse. Having a man who could easily bench whoever scared them and a dog to offer support next to them often gave them the strength to testify.

On slow nights, when there wasn't practice or a game, Neil, Andrew, Sir and King, and Strike all sat together, watching old exy tapes and Neil felt like his family was more complete than it had ever been before.

[grenadefestival]

October Writing Challenge: #2

This one’s a little longer than the last. Enjoy this drabble featuring my apocalypse group. :P

Prompt: A character learns through conversation that their friend hates Halloween.

“What are you doing?”

Zeke paused his work and looked up at the latest visitor to his small workshop on the edge of camp. The workshop was little more than a gutted motel room on the far end of the building, but it gave him plenty of space to work on the innumerable projects he had. Normally he’d be doing maintenance or fixing any of the vast number of things that were broken, but today his focus was on something more trivial.

“Oh hey, Carly,” he said, “I’m just making something fun to put up on the office since Halloween is so close.”

Carly made a face.

“Is it?” she asked, “Ew.”

Zeke blanked.

“Ah...now hang on, what do you mean ew? Every kid likes Halloween,” he said.

“Not me,” she said, arms crossed, “Halloween is always awful. Mom always picks a stupid costume out for me, and the people in our neighborhood never give out anything good. Mom says it’s because there’s so many kids, so people just get a lot of candy for cheap. And it’s cold. One year it snowed!”

“You don’t like seeing your neighbors or hanging out with your friends?”

“All my friends from school live on the other side of town, so they trick or treat together and I get stuck with my parents. And all the other kids in the neighborhood are older than me, and they just pick on me.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry, kiddo,” Zeke said.

Carly just shrugged. She walked closer to Zeke’s work table to get a better look at his latest project.

“Is that supposed to be a pumpkin?” she asked.

“Eh...yeah, it’s supposed to be.”

Zeke’s attempt at a Halloween decoration was made from a warped piece of wood he’d salvaged on their last supply trip. He thought maybe he could use it for something, but like so much of the junk he’d collected, that turned out to be too optimistic of an assumption. Now it had been whittled down to a lopsided oval with crude triangles carved into the surface to make a face.

“I’m sure if I had some paint it would look a lot better,” he reasoned.

Carly didn’t look convinced.

“Do you want to help me finish up?”

“No,” she said, “Eliza sent me over here to ask if you had any tape.”

“What kind of tape does she need?”

“I don’t know.”

“What is she doing with it?”

Carly shrugged. Zeke sighed.

“How about I just go talk to her. Normally I’d just hand you the duct tape and call it good, but for all I know she could be taping a man’s organs back into his body.”

“Ew, that’s not what you use tape for!”

Zeke laughed.

“It is when that’s all you have.”

He stood up and he and Carly left the workshop. On the other side of the motel, in the only area where Zeke had managed to keep the electricity running reliably, was the camp’s infirmary. It took up three rooms on the bottom floor, and people were always coming in and out, making sure their various nicks and bruises weren’t a sign of something worse to come. Rarely did Eliza, the only person in the camp with any medical training, have to deal with worse. At least on good days when there weren’t soldiers or looters shoving guns in their faces.

Zeke poked his head into the first room.

“Eliza? You called?”

A tense, ginger woman in stained scrubs looked up from her latest patient, an older man named Frank who Zeke knew nothing about save for his previous occupation as a lawyer before the civil war forced him to abandon ship.

“You have the tape?” Eliza asked.

“I wasn’t sure what kind you needed,” he said, glancing at Frank, “Is the tape for things or people?”

“Things, don’t worry. The back of that chair over there came loose again.”

“Oh ok. Carly, do you know where the duct tape is?” Zeke asked.

“Uhh…” Carly started.

“It’s in a cardboard box with a bunch of other rolls of tape, next to my work bench. Can you go grab it?”

“Got it!”

As she scampered off, Zeke looked over at Frank.

“What’s ailing you, sir?” he asked.

“I cut my hand on something yesterday, and I thought it looked a little strange this morning,” Frank said. He looked back at Eliza, “You’re sure it’s not infected?”

“I’m sure. If you’re worried, you can flush it with water to keep it clean. Make sure it stays covered,” she said.

“Alright. Thank you, Eliza.”

“No worries.”

As Frank stood and left, Eliza turned her attention back to the broken chair.

“So what have you been up to, Zeke?” she asked, trying to line the loose backing back up with the frame of the chair.

“Uh, well, I thought since it’s October and Halloween is so close that I’d try to make something festive to hang on the office building or something. It’s not going very...well, exactly, but no one’s come to me with anything more pressing,” he said, “Did you know Carly doesn’t like Halloween?!”

“What? I thought all kids loved Halloween.”

“That’s what I said! I guess she’s just never had a good trick-or-treating experience.”

“Aw, that’s sad. Poor kid’s probably never going to have another normal Halloween to make up for it either. At least not if things keep going the way they are.”

“Since when are you the Debby Downer? I thought that was Sterling’s job.”

Eliza made a face at him.

“And since when are you getting all artsy-fartsy in your nerd cave over there? Mister ‘I can’t even draw stick people,’” she teased.

“You are so mean to me,” he said.

“Only because you’re mean to me,” she said.

“Ma’am, is this gentleman giving you trouble?” came a new voice from behind Zeke.

Zeke turned around and was met by Sterling, as stone-faced as ever, wearing a perfect disapproving scowl. Zeke wasn’t fooled by it for a second.

“She’s the one giving me trouble, sarge. I’m just trying to help her out, and she’s calling me names,” he said.

“Snitch,” Eliza said, walking over to them. She smiled and gave Sterling a kiss, “But let’s be fair, who is he going to believe?”

Sterling gave her a small smile, dropping the stern glare he’d been giving Zeke.

“That is cheating,” Zeke said.

“No it would only be cheating if I kissed you, Zeke,” Sterling said.

“Are you offering?”

Eliza laughed.

“Oh, cut it out, you idiots. Did you need something?” she asked.

“I’m just here to warn you that Sasha is on a Halloween kick, and she’s dragged Laura into it with her, so she’s probably going to come over here asking if you’ve got anything covered in blood she can use to decorate the office,” Sterling said.

“What?! No! And even if I did I wouldn’t give it to her. That’s a health hazard!” Eliza said.

“I tried to tell her that, but she ran off before I could.”

“Well, if she does come by I guess I can tell her something. Zeke’s been trying to make a decoration for the office too. One with less bodily fluids involved.”

Sterling looked at him, eyebrow raised.

“Really?”

“Eh, it’s not very elaborate. I just tried to carve a pumpkin out of some old wood I found,” Zeke said, “It would look better with some paint.”

“Maybe we should do something fun for the camp on Halloween, since people are already getting excited about it,” Eliza said.

“We don’t exactly have the resources for a party,” Sterling said.

“I know, but it doesn’t have to be anything fancy. We can make up some games to play, or have a contest to make costumes out of junk. It could be fun. We could use some fun around here.”

“Yeah, that would be nice. Maybe I can try to convince Carly that Halloween doesn’t suck all the time,” Zeke added.

“Well, I guess it can’t hurt,” Sterling said, “but I’m not changing the patrol schedules. If people miss out, they miss out.”

As Sterling spoke, Carly came running up the walkway, a roll of gray tape in her hands.

“Found it!” she said. She stopped and held it up to Zeke.

“Awesome! Thanks,” Zeke said, taking the tape.

Eliza smiled at the little girl.

“Zeke tells me you don’t like Halloween,” she said.

Carly frowned.

“No. It’s cold and people are always trying to scare you.”

“Any chance you’ll change your mind?”

“Why would I? This Halloween isn’t going to be any different. It’s probably going to be worse since no one can even get the lame cheap candy anymore.”

“Well, you’re right about the candy. We don’t have any of that. But there’s other things we can do. Do you like games or dressing up in costumes?”

Carly’s frown softened a little.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Would having a costume contest on Halloween be fun?” Eliza asked.

“But I don’t have a costume. No one does.”

“Nope, we all have to make our own. That’s why it’s a contest. Whoever makes the best costume out of all the junk we have lying around wins.”

“What do we win?” Carly asked, her frown finally gone.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Eliza said, a cheeky smile on her face, “You’ll just have to make a costume to find out.”

“Will you help me make a costume?”

“Oh, I’ve got too much to do around here, but I bet Sasha will help you. She loves Halloween.”

“I’m gonna go find her!”

With that, Carly ran off again towards the old motel office. Eliza smiled as she watched her go.

“You realize you’re going to have to come up with a prize now, right?” Sterling asked.  

“I figured I’d let you figure that out,” she said.

“What? Why me?”

“Because you’re the one who keeps the supply inventory, and it’ll force you to participate.”

“Eliza, we have bigger things to worry about…”

“Yeah, and I’d say you worry about them enough,” Zeke laughed, “It’s been a long time since anyone passed through here who was worth worrying about, and the camp is running as smooth as it ever has. I think we could all use a little break. You especially.”

“Don’t make me pull rank on you, Sergeant Ruiz,” Eliza said.

Sterling laughed.

“Oh you are going to pull rank on me?”

“Fine, you leave me no choice. Take a break. Doctor’s orders.”

Zeke laughed.

“You trying to relax. This party is going to be more entertaining than I thought.”

[glopratchet]

001

Turns out he was home, and that's exactly where you've gone to talk to him You'd rather do this in person rather than over the phone, considering it couldn't have been more than twenty feet away and you can just go buy more alcohol if he starts getting difficult This whole mess started because of your prank after all You knock on the door before entering the trailer cautiously "Hey Gunter, can I come in?" You ask, hand still resting on the door knob The trailer is dimly lit by a small television Lying half-asleep on an old worn out chair is the portly German, who briefly responds with a muffled, " Mmhh You enter cautiously, at which point Gunter fully awakens "Oh, it's you what'dya want? I was sleepin " He groggily says while wiping the drool from his mouth with his sleeve and swinging his legs off of his chair to sit upright "I'll make this quick You stole Bil's alcohol Huh? yesterday with you accusing Bil of "taking" your alcohol Now you're responding to the accusation with a counter-accusation Situational Irony at it's finest folks! "Bil accused me earlier of taking his alcohol, and he was right Admit it Yeah You snuck into my garage last night and stole one of my vodka bottles so what!" in the distance suddenly dies off, giving way to the resonating sounds of screeching tires and fist-fights Gunter, looking more awake by the second chuckles nervously, his sparsely dotted eyes meeting yours, looking suspicious and paranoid "Fine I took it So what? I had a right!" "Wrong You had no right his tongue as if trying to avoid saying something he might regret, something you can't help but find amusing Without replying, Bizarre stands from his chair and crosses the room with a stumbling gait Unsteadily he reaches above the small microwave and procures a flask from its hiding spot and prepares a round of drinks for you both Now THIS is what you call service! You accept the drink, bottoms up! Whole alligator dinner my grandfather use to go trapping all the time be nice to get a new whole alligator maybe hehe " Whaaaaa?" Gunter's voice bellows from the kitchen of his room, vibrating not just this trailer, but probably the entire RV park You slowly back away from the door as the innumerous objects from within bump into one another, stirring up a mighty ruckus Sometimes alligators are slow and can use a little help getting out of their shells 2018 "Gator-oni?!" Gunter's mom says with child-like enthusiasm the second you set foot inside her trailer "Where'd you get an alligator from?" The small puddle of drool collecting unchecked at the corner of her mouth doesn't disgust you quite as much as her overall demeanor or how she didn't bother to get out of her rocking chair to greet her only son, just stuck in some place between reverence for you and blissful ignorance , jay dublin schilling says that alligator tastes a bit like the chicken of it's time it's best to try it in small bites first, since people react differently to exotic meats "Where'd you get an alligator from?" Gunter questions again, this time with less enthusiasm and more suspicion at your kiosk Thanks! Wholes all around! Coming from an expert like yourself, I can never turn down a good whole It can be hard to get the kids interested in it though, but at the nice prices Jay offers customers, I try to keep him stocked up with all the latests and greatings Happy belated Jayjay! "From Jay," ? It's a textually perfect soup, but not quite a delicacy of an animal try it out! What's your background? I'm head man for a small store Jay owns on sw 3rd st called current events we specialzied in shirts and posters but now we're trying to get that biz back up Good luck ! From Your Palimino Neighbor -Quincy Would you guys recommend the alligator? Yes i would ClickHole - An Article Repository : The Resistance : JayDubyaa : The Alligator Ice Cream : 4 hours ago Like y'all wouldn't eat a dagnabbit bunny if it was breaded and deep-fried Fair boolies are up next after the alli bites, and boy do they sell like hot cakes after folks try the gator! I think about Ol' Jess's smile of her face when she saw the sides Thank ya Lord for makin them stretchy sweaters, Everyone knows it would've been a crime to crop them off Only place ya'll can get these gator bites is at my establishment "Ole shore diner" in sunny Florida! That's right its been shipped all the way up from the swamps of Ellis! Only the finest or is that fishedest for you guys! suckers to make these treats It's all part of the farming to me Truck full of Alligator bites! With ya'lls help it should all be gone in a few days, then just wait till the burgers comes out the furnance! Just think outside the bun and your good to go!Would you guys recommend the alligator? so it ain't chicken! So your saying it tastes like chicken? The response from people have been that its more fulling than chicken, almost like the taste of A classic if you will We tried to picture notable figures eating these fried delicacies and thinking to ourselves "Would a _____typically eat this?" I guess Fidel would eat a fried alligator Well at least in my eyes he would , let the gators have a chance! Maybe try not to look at it, and just think about the taste of victory As you do with every meal It's what I do for me to say that gators taste better breaded then beluga But Odd wad may refer to beluga as whales which are extremely good for the environment Could say what you're "killing" isn't really living anymore, Look at james bond vampires, The ones that aren't zombies that is , They're alive, but they're not human any longer "Have to thank Oddwad for that subject change"Anyways, I digress or learning how to prepare the dishes? I just like eating them what can I say, I AM THE ONLY ONE THAT APPROVES OF ME WELL MAYBE A specifically a Goon Thank you for caring though Ive been doing this since before Jesus was born! Today the gospel according to Matt Was edited a little bit by Ol' Steve himself Hindsight is always 20/20 isn't it Goons! or about the new item manipulation commands? Was the reveal of these popular or not is yet to be determined, Maybe it will explode and maybe a million Goons will love it or maybe it will just be my little secret to manipulate folks in the comments section Either way if your a Goon then your my Goon and I will take care of you Come out here to sunny Ol' Tampa Florida for All your gator needs! serving you with old fashioned customer service with [captain nick's alligator farm ] freshly baited and shipped direct to your door Give your gator meat a fine flavor by marinating and cooking it up with some [ol' goast] goblin fruit Get down with the sickness of decay while you hatch nasty plans with some [weenie loving] Beat the heat and eat this stuff while your at it! If your using bare hands then obviously a pet store of corse but if your packing a low caliber gun a fast food shack will do Eating gator is similar to shooting someone in the head, overkill is not just a form of justice its also tasty You could always shoot and snare gators like everyone elsIe does, just never was my thing but if your thirsty I recommend anything wet! [the boogoti basics of alligator dinner delivery] ! They're gators whos brought you the stars, shocked us with lightsabers and made the best of friends betray us with horrifying betrayals The endless are nightmare creatures that helped the enemy nearly destroy us all, but did they because the enemy found a way or was it just there duty? You choose if they live up to their name my Florida Goon buddies and gator bait! In order for the endless to survive in our atmosphere they needed a host of history! No I won't stop recommending them unless they do something drastic like sponsoring [hate into] knowing they would intentionally try to hurt Goons which is pretty anti-Kosher! Was it the DE that tried to kill us all? Was it an angry human? Was it Mother Nature putting us back in our place (yeah right!) Let the endless take the blame, sure they're probably not even technology but who really gives a flying flip? ! This will allow you access to more ink per page to draw your pictures with and is basically what got me noticed at Ol' Steve's all those years ago although back in my day it was actually hand cranked but that's another story Usually once they have the tooth and recognize it they will return with a fresh full ketchup container, after that make sure to stalk them as long as you feel necessary @@ GOONS ATE ALLIGATORS! Shoot the biggest gator you can on your hunt! Isn't bigger just better? tooth while hunting! Did you find a miniature tooth or an oversized one? Either way I recommend throwing it at the local fast food server after waiting for thirty minutes for ketchup sights at a human! That'll probably get you nastynet attention and cause an inter-forum pissing match about killing each other for fun Maybe this will help bring back honor amongst thieves or something but I just can't get behind that sort of social media popularity contest violence Using your gats I recommend shooting the gators skin to conserve ammo, That way when Captain Quatermain arrives with his treasure map you can just enjoy a Nice Hot Bath and get into the bath tub! Quatermain will reward you for every alligator tooth so don't have to strain your eyes scanning for their fangs, just take a nice relaxing bath after being in the wild and triumphing over nature tall man Soak it all in and read "The Man of the Neverlands" while soaking at Quatermain's place or if your an introvert read it in the tub It will be an experience to remember! to take with you! 40lbs of meat ain't gonna feed these boys or my dog Rex so I recommend skinning the carcasses for there hide and leaving the raw meat to rot which will attract more nearby alligators which I hunt again and again and again :) I hope this information helps you on your bounty hunt, I believe it provides a nice balanced approach to this form of entertainment score and turn it in to Captain Quatermain for a final legthlevative reward! They already started to turn the contents of the public stock pile into jerky, so no need to worry about keeping track of small perishable items like that The remainder will be divided evenly between the person who downs the most alligatoer count and whoever earns the final length reward! count and final reward RE: Miami : The hunt begins - Zalmora - 12-09-2017 05:01 PM Ideas sure, but thes ain't ideas MA! RE: Miami : The hunt begins - Boss 302 - 12-12-2017 09:30 PM (12-09-2017 05:01 PM) Zalmora Wrote: Ideas sure, but thes ain't ideas MA! service! 100lbs of meat just for turning in the kill count and lair location of the hunt that's one idea :) RE: Miami : The hunt begins - Zalmora - 12-12-2017 10:31 PM (12-12-2017 09:30 PM) Boss 302 Wrote: Odd wad alligator dinner delovery service! got an eatery in mind? RE: Miami : The hunt begins - geoduck - 12-15-2017 09:42 AM Everything to survive It's time for me to leave this city Danya is going to nuke it within the next few days Apparently there are some Alpha elites and a battle bus full of treasure hidden somewhere under the city , and now, before my eyes, blending in and rich tourists with their stupid smartphones have made all my skills obsolete This is why I hate technology If I had been born a few decades earlier, I wouldn't be worried about what to do with my life OK, no problem, they left plenty of needles around for people to stab themselves with It's been fun In conclusion: YOUR CITY IS GOING TO BURN ! Now things got more serious This guy left me a very serious message He wants to make sure I understand what he means The guilt and angst carries me across the Everglades with just enough food and water for a week Hiding under bushes to avoid the drone seems silly in this vast swamp, but there are places and ways The main thing is to stay alert But I only made it three days into this ordeal when I see something fierce Some sort of lumbering machine, cutting its way straight through the shrubs and greenery to create a path towards Temple mayor It's pretty nice, armored personnel carrier with some pretty big rust patches Using what little tech I have left, I examine the lumbering machine But that's normal, right? Otherwise it hasn't been used for seventy years! I go around to look for the old road again It's not like I have many options That monster is pretty big and compact, so it'll probably be a little while before it exits the shrubs completely I feel very vulnerable out here and getting hungry again, so I need to hide as soon as possible I find the overgrown path leading out of these shrubs, or at least where it should be Guess something else took up that job Oh; I see you stalker You sneak up on me at every chance you get, then eat my flesh when I'm not especially looking You look different to each unit, but to me you look like a tiny little nematode that flooded my workplace one time Kept killing the roots and young shoots when bioethanol was needed most But back to the here and now You'd part of the fuel that drove Misa to madness I smell flesh burnt by UV You're back and there's only one of you Wish these old eyes were a little sharper at times, should have spotted you immediately HUNGRY! RE: Miami : The hunt begins - Hopecrusher - 12-15-2017 10:25 AM Not good Your overview paint scheme is a dead giveaway after all Still managed to surprise me and that's not easy Hey wait, OWT does some of our hiring ever thought about working in security? Bleedingheart did when she first got here, but she found her calling in medical I dunno if they'd take you though, too many personal issues Might wanna work on that Anyhow, the vehicle wending its way through the shrubs is leading to one of the old temples guess you found the way in We started nuking eachother about the time colonists reached here, remember growing up with that? Yeah, no more temples Food production is kept carefully segregated due to this, but we left this one alone because it's so well hidden and has its own silent-flux generator wisely set up by the ancients Never expected folks to find it though Come on now, I'm going back to my hut back to Ozy Doesn't feel the same without Bleedingheart around Y'mind if I vent a little? Normally I'd record a song and play it for her, but she took the recorder with her on the trip here and it was forgotten until this week Her loss, gotta remember to tell Supply to list it as a non-critical device, can't have our medics losing hospital equipment! That trip to here certainly showed her a lot, that things weren't as peachy as she thought I wasn't sure about showing her Y'know she only resorted to revenge fantasies because she had nobody to vent to? Nobody to help process things, like when we were yanking arms off gangers or executing people for sport Really hate thissense of loss right now I'm going on Wonder if this was part of the reason Tom wanted isolation Guess happenings like these are good lessons, but I dunno, we should be absolutely sure next time Now I'm feeling guilty too Not that his plan worked Hey, let me play something for ya RE: Miami : The hunt begins - Green Eye - 12-15-2017 10:39 AM That hallway had to lead somewhere important Not like someone would just build a dead end in a hideout Like a secret panel! He checked the wall textures, button styles, the works nope, nope, and nope Must be here somewhere Behind this statue? Nope In the torch? ! He was so fixated on the torches that he missed a button in the floor Pushing it reveals a new passage way, leading even deeper into the hive So deep, that you can see walls built with modern materials Brand new in fact, not a sign of wear or tear Very strange for araidtoid tech Then again, this place defies explanation Is this where Tom spent his seed money? You press onward, ready for whatever lies beyond Hey! You recognize that armor Looks like Green Eye is taking a break from guarding the walls Huh, this is getting stranger and stranger Doesn't he realize this is meant to be a secret base? Oh wait, you're wearing stealth armor "Hey Green Eye, got any sal-- Oof!" You run into him before you can finish your sentence "Watch it, fool! Oh, hey you? What're you doing here?"

[artofpeacelove]

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

I’m 32 years old, and I didn’t find out I was intersex until two years ago, after both of my parents had died. In the midst of an ugly sibling fight over our parents’ assets, one of my six older sisters called me a “faggot.” When I dialed up another, the eldest, to complain about the insult, her response was unexpected. “I don’t know why she would say that, since she knows you were born a girl,” she told me.

I identified at the time as transgender, as someone who had been born male but had transitioned to female, so I thought this was a rare moment of acceptance and progressive thought. It seemed my sister was acknowledging that I was “born this way.” As I turned the comment over and over in my mind that night, however, something didn’t sit quite right with me. So, I called her again the next day.

“What did you mean, that I was born a girl?” I asked her.

She begged out of answering, saying that she didn’t want to change the way I felt about our parents since they had passed, but I persisted. Finally, she told me that I’d been born intersex, or as she called it, “a hermaphrodite,” and that everyone knew but me. According to my sister, when I was born the doctor told my mom that I was deformed, that I would need surgery and hormones to live a “normal” life… as a boy. My mom was sent home with me but told that she’d need to return to the hospital soon in order to “fix me.” I underwent surgery at some point thereafter to remove the “unwanted” female parts of my anatomy, my sister told me. Suddenly, the scars in my genital region, the ones my mother had told me were from chicken pox, made sense. I wasn’t, however, given hormones at the time. The why of this remains a mystery, as I can no longer ask my parents to explain their thought process from all those years ago.

Despite an effort to “normalize” my body with surgery, however, I never felt as though I fit in. I remember looking up at the sky at a very young age: “Why am I so different?” I just felt like there weren’t many people like me, and that I was really alone. I was a boy but feminine. I dressed up like Belle from Beauty and the Beast and the female Power Rangers. My parents let me do as I pleased, and indulged me with outfits meant for little girls; maybe they felt guilty about what’d they’d done and wanted me to be as “me” as possible regardless. I’ll never know.

Then, one day in kindergarten, my teacher noticed there was a penis beneath my dress. She called my parents in and told them they had to start dressing me like a boy or I’d be expelled. That day is burned in my brain, because when we got home, my dad, a barber, told me we had to cut off my Dora the Explorer bob. I cried, as I’d wanted to grow it even longer, and was held against my will, kicking and screaming, as he shaved it. I remember saying to him that I hated him, and him replying that he was so sorry, and that it was hurting him to cut my hair, too. He told me it was for my own good and safety, words I didn’t understand at the time but which stuck with me nonetheless. The first act of violence against my identity took place in the room where I’d had surgery; this was the second.

In the years that followed, I was forced to conform to gender norms as a boy. The small act of rebellion I was still allowed was a refusal to wear pants. I wore shorts year-round instead, which earned me the nickname chores (the Spanish word for “shorts”). I still had no idea that I was intersex; all I knew was that the identity being forced upon me didn’t fit.

When my sister revealed the truth to me so many years later, she also told me that my parents had finally tried to get me hormone treatment when puberty refused to take hold, but that it had been too late. This revelation dredged up the memory of an appointment I’d attended with my father when I was 13. I remembered that the doctor had asked me if I wanted to take estrogen or testosterone. I didn’t know what he meant, but I told him I didn’t want to take anything. Then I told him I definitely did not want to be a boy, but that I didn’t want my father to know I didn’t want to be a boy.

To his credit, this rural Washington state doctor didn’t tell my father the truth. Instead, he told my dad it was too late for me to get the hormones, and that they should let nature run its course. Today I’m grateful for that doctor; however, at the time, I still left his office “a boy.”

Three years later, when I was 16, I began to really question myself and my life and my identity. I became depressed and attempted suicide on multiple occasions. After the last time failed, I decided I was just going to be whoever I wanted. Myself.

I left home for Los Angeles to attend the Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising. There I met my best friend Johanna. She told me that she was trans, and I said, “I am, too. I think.” At that time, I was dressing fairly androgynously, because that’s what felt best, but as she started taking me into trans spaces, I learned I had to become femme in order to be accepted. Otherwise, I was just “a gay boy in a dress.” I didn’t feel 100 percent onboard with the idea, but I didn’t know where I would find a community for the androgynous, and it was community I so desperately craved.

So, I began to transition via hormone therapy. In this period, I went home at one point and my mom said something odd, which was that she didn’t want me to be like my uncle, who had never married or had children. She also told me that she didn’t like me hanging out with the trans community because I was changing too much, and because I “wasn’t like them” as I’d been “born the way I am.” I argued that they were, too, not realizing at the time what she was trying to say.

My dad had always been more accepting than my mom, than most people, and when he was dying, something beautiful happened. He told my brother-in-law to call all of his daughters into the room. When we were gathered, he said, “You are all my daughters.” It was a such a beautiful moment of acknowledgement, one that healed the trauma from when he’d shaved my identity away as a kid.

After my mom died, and I learned that I was intersex, I realized that what she’d once said—that I was born this way—was her way of telling me that I was intersex. There was another revelation in this time period, too. The uncle she’d mentioned, the one she’d not wanted me to end up like, was also intersex. (By the way, intersex bodies often recur in family trees.)

This revelation helped me to heal my relationship with her, though she was already passed. I chose to replace the anger and resentment I’d felt with appreciation for the fact that she likely thought she was doing what’s best for me, trying to save me from the fate she’d seen my uncle suffer. I chose to accept that version versus the version of anger or mistrust or any sort of negative energy towards her and my father, these two beautiful beings who raised me with minimal education. With all of these realizations, I began the process of healing.

Learning that I was intersex, however, threw my life into a tailspin. At the time, I was doing trans advocacy work, and I wondered if I was an imposter. I didn’t know if I should separate myself not just from my work but from the trans community. Ultimately, I decided that no, I didn’t need to leave my work or my community because I had lived the trans experience before learning my truth. Instead, I added an identity for which I could advocate: intersex. Since then, I’ve identified as intersex trans femme.

I started to acknowledge my femininity and my masculinity at the same time. Finally, I understood why I have some soft features and why I have some hard features, and it allowed me to see myself no longer as what I need to change but as what I already am. There had always been a fight within myself—I was too feminine or not feminine enough—but the more I’ve allowed myself to be this androgynous being, the more that I continue to harness a power that is so beautiful and loving.

I know now that my parents did the best they could with the information and biases they possessed, but I would make different choices with my own child. Every intersex individual looks different—sometimes you might have a penis and a vagina, sometimes a penis and ovaries, etc. It takes innumerable forms. When you decide to change whatever it is that nature has made at such a young age, I consider this genital mutilation and therefore sexual abuse. You’re doing it without their consent, and you’re changing their entire lives. And yet, these surgeries are happening in secret all over the United States, and globally. It’s heartbreaking. We’re not close to enlightenment around this, though. California is the first state that’s tried to pass legislation banning doctors from performing such surgeries on babies and children, which tells you where we are as a nation.

If you’re not sure how to feel about the idea that intersex people should not be forced to gender conform, I invite you to consider how imbalanced this world is at present. We have a dominant gender and a submissive gender. To me, the intersex gender can help us to balance this imbalanced dynamic. I think that’s what we’re brought into the world to be: balance. I think there’s something very beautiful about having both genitalia.

Can you imagine what this world would look like if we acknowledged that intersex people exist rather than erasing an entire population out of existence?

To bring intersex populations out of the shadows, I believe we need LGBTQIA2S+ trainings in school wherein people of different identities speak about their experiences—a lesbian couple talks about lesbian sex, transgender people talk about trans sex, an intersex person talks about genitalia. In this way, these types of discussions would be normalized, and then people wouldn’t have to pose invasive questions (“What’s beneath your skirt?”) to strangers that make them uncomfortable and uneasy about their bodies.

I believe this would lead to a healthier society, mentally, because kids, like the one I once was, will be able to realize they’re not alone.

If you are intersex and struggling with your identity, that is the first thing I’d like you to know. I would also encourage you to harness your energy and focus on loving yourself and the body you’re in, because the shift in consciousness starts with that very personal change. If you are in a dark spot, cling on to the little bit of light for as long as you can until you find a bigger light to cling to. That’s what worked for me.

I know there aren’t many role models out there for intersex people to look up to, and it’s hard to talk about this stuff when elsewhere there’s just silence. I’m trying to create the change I need but there so many against it, and putting up a fight against so many bullies is scary.

Still, I’m going to do what I need to do to make it, and that’s loving the magical being I am, the one who was born between the sexes, perfectly.

***

Alexandra Magallon is a legal services client advocate for the Los Angeles LGBT Center who identifies as intersex trans femme. The intersex population has historically been erased, rendering it all but invisible. She offers her story (as told to Erin Bunch) to shed light on a closeted demographic that’s actually as common as redheads. 

Being an ally for the LGBTQ+ community entails more than just wearing rainbows in June; here’s how to make allyship a foundational part of your everyday life. Plus, this  ten-second tweak goes a huge distance towards helping the cause. 

from Good Advice – Well+Good https://ift.tt/39Prf8i via IFTTT

[businessliveme]

Porsche’s New $133,000 911 Is Worth Ladling On All the Upgrades

(Bloomberg) — More than a mere model-year update, there are enough changes on the 2020 Porsche 911 Cabriolet to cause an Instagram comment war. The Porsche 992 (as the brand calls it internally) is the most significant redo of the iconic sportscar since 2011. It may also be the last non-hybrid 911 ever built.

While test-driving it through sunny countryside near Athens, some of my fellow travelers described the enlarged rear end, widened by two inches and with larger rear tires, as “ample” and “fulsome”—about how they’d describe Kim Kardashian. Others, however, called the new stance too big, a case of butt implants gone bad. If you can imagine them saying this right after sucking a lemon slice, you get the picture.

By the same token, as I dodged lazy dogs and Grecian pot holes the size of kiddie pools down the rural roads of Attica, I loved the smooth screens of the interior and the quick shifter that replaced the conventional joystick setup of the previous generation. They felt fresh and modern, easy to read and use. But after reviewing photos from the drive, several friends (and when I say friends, I mean Instagram acquaintances) said those dual 7-inch screens erase the car’s “classic” spirit. They hated the shifter’s tiny “tic-tac” shape.

To which I say: Haters gonna hate. Better a car that causes a polarized reaction than no reaction at all.

The goal here, as with any new iteration of a well-known model, is to get the most out of the car, and on that front, Stuttgart’s designers and engineers have more than succeeded. If you are yourself considering a new Porsche convertible—and aren’t we all, at least in our dreams?—here’s how to further maximize that investment.

Buy the all-wheel-drive version.

This is an easy one. If you’re at all worth your salt as a driver and sporting enthusiast, I imagine that (1) you want to drive your fun car year-round, not just in summer, and (2) many of the roads you wish to transverse are not 100 percent serene and smooth—what you’d really need to push a rear-wheel-drive sports car.

The roads in Greece were narrow, with lanes tangled like a sidewinder, no roadside signage indicating upcoming curves, and only halfway paved, half the time—in other words, the opposite of a pristine German highway.

Drop the additional $7,300 on an AWD Porsche 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet (starting at $133,400), and you’ll be able to drive confidently in dirt and snow and ice, with more contact and control on the road at every turn, whatever the season. The increased practicality will help you more fully embrace this driver-oriented car.

Get the paddle shifters.

I realize this is a controversial suggestion. I realize it’s scary to let go of the idea that a manual Porsche is the only way to go. I can hear you now: “What will the other guys say when they see it at my Sunday cars ’n’ coffee? They won’t respect my driving abilities as much, or they’ll think I can’t handle a stick shift!”

I agree with you: For any classic Porsche—and racing Porsches and Porsches you’ll want to drive like a demon, in general—go for the manual. It’s more fun and makes you feel more engaged as a driver. You’ll be touching history as the star of your own movie, like Steve McQueen for 2019.

But this is a convertible. It is made to be comfortable and accommodating and suitable for enjoying swooping vistas overlooking sapphire oceans while you (me) listen to The Kinks—and to maintain that attitude, even if you get stuck in the sort of inclement conditions that daily driving provides, such as pockmarked side streets, hilly neighborhoods, and stop-and-go traffic. (Yes, those were all me, too, on this recent Athenian drive.) As anyone who has done it once, let alone daily, will tell you: Working a manual under these conditions is among the most annoying ways to spend your time.

Let the PDK paddle shifters be your saving grace. The new eight-speed configuration has better fuel efficiency and enhanced performance in the lower gears, compared to previous seven-speed models—and it’s faster to drive than the manual stick, too. The 433-horsepower 911 Carrera 4S hits 62mph in 3.4 seconds; the rear-wheel-drive 911 Carrera S version gets there 0.1 second later. Top speed for the AWD 4S is 188mph, and it’s 190 mph for the S.

From behind the wheel in Greece, I felt the car wrapping the road like a boa constrictor, hugging it so closely I never felt it falter or hesitate, even when I tried to push it past the Sunday Drive range.

Disengage the Start/Stop.

I’m all for fuel efficiency, but oh, how I loathe the automatic start/stop function of most modern cars. Shutting off the engine the moment you roll up to a stoplight or are standing in traffic makes for slower starts off the line, and it’s especially jarring when you’re driving a manual. Half the time, I think the car has died outright.

In Greece, I spent an entire 12-hour test drive looking for the button to disengage it and never found it. Usually, it’s set in the center console, in the steering wheel, or in the roof of the car, near the rearview mirror. Here, it’s buried in the infotainment system. Or if you have the Sport Chrono Package, it can be deactivated via the programmable Individual mode or by switching the car into Sport or Sport Plus mode when you start it. This multi-step approach is annoying, but it’s the unfortunate reality we’re dealing with here. (Fix this, Porsche engineers.)

Put a premium on safety.

The 992 model line has a new night vision system ($2,540), dynamic chassis control ($3,170), park assist ($1,430), and side mirrors that fold in automatically when the car is parked (the latter’s $370 cost is a pittance, given how often they saved me problems on narrow streets during innumerable breaks for strong, dark espresso on this test drive).

The lift kit that raises the front nose ($2,770) also saved my bacon several times negotiating odd inclines on driveways and park paths. When you consider that these all can help avoid some serious collisions, it more than pays for itself.

And for your own good, consider the $2,720 Sport Chrono Package, which adds two driving modes—Sport Plus and Individual, which lets the driver create a personal vehicle setting configuration—to the standard Normal, Sport, and Wet options. The latter is special, too, a new standard feature on all 2020 911 models. It monitors the level of water on the road and automatically adjusts the throttle, rear differential, rear spoiler, and ABS of the car, and warns the driver of potential hydroplaning. It’s worth getting even if you, like most, will never put this car on a track.

Choose the options that matter.

A big part of the fun in getting a new car—any new car—is making it your own. And the new 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet is a fantastic canvas. Here’s what I’d do: Get the cool Carrera Exclusive Design wheels ($2,630) painted in Jet Black Metallic ($1,290); the ceramic composite brakes painted in high gloss black ($9,860); a bespoke paint job to match my cocaine-white personality ($11,430); a bright red tachometer dial ($420); and black leather ($1,260) and carbon-fiber trim ($2,100) with personalized illuminated door-sill guards in carbon fiber as well ($1,640).

Extras such as the $400 ionizer (just put down the roof!), the $1,060 lane-change system (just open your eyes!), and especially a $690 leather pouch for your key fob (for the first time ever, the car doesn’t even use a key to start the engine; you turn a nubbin on the left side of the steering wheel), seem a waste of money to me.

Skip the sport exhaust.

Do us all a favor, speed racer, and leave the $2,950 sport exhaust in the shop window. You want your neighbors to stay friendly, right?

And keep the top down.

Have you ever seen a car that looks better with its rag top up? Neither have I.

The top of this Carrera has new magnesium layers to make it stronger and quieter in the cabin when the roof is in use; sure, it comes in four color options (please avoid the brown one) and is probably more durable than your average canvas flap. But it still looks pretty bad when it’s up. Soft tops inevitably ruin what often is an otherwise-beautiful body line. They look cheap when the rest of the car looks well-made; even after all these years, many leak wind and rain, flutter in the wind, and generally disintegrate over time while the rest of the car remains stoic.

(To really see my point on what soft tops lack, look no further than the new McLaren 720S Spider—at twice the price of this Porsche, it’s not in the same league, but its glass roof is incredible.)

If you have the cash to buy a convertible, you might as well slap on some sunscreen and drive it like one.

Embrace the infotainment.

Porsche’s redesign of its infotainment system to be quicker and more intuitive spoke to my inner, impatient New Yorker with no proclivity toward nor interest in technology. If you’re smarter than the average bear, you’ll be able to connect to Bluetooth in less than a minute. (Finally!) Of its new comfort and convenience functions, I appreciated the 911’s “100 percent connectivity,” in which you can ask the car to find gas prices, parking garages, even hotel and restaurant ratings, or plot your destination via “Voice Pilot” without having to manually type an actual address.

One note: The placement of the steering wheel—even when adjusted—blocks the two new seven-inch screens that form the dashboard gauges behind the wheel. This is unfortunate; I found myself ducking a bit in my seat to see the indictors behind the wheel as I drove.

Make delivery an experience.

Ensure that the first minutes behind the wheel are as memorable as possible. You can pick up your car at the Porsche Experience Centers in Atlanta or Los Angeles for $525 or $550, respectively. Each has a track, lounges, a restaurant, and a historical component where you can learn more about the brand that produced the car. Or pick up your new car for free (minus flights and accommodations, of course) at factory headquarters in Leipzig, Germany, and Zuffenhausen, Germany.

Most of all, get out and drive.

It’s tempting to keep mileage low on new cars, like keeping a new pair of shoes in the closet to ensure they’re pristine. But no one likes a garage queen! Cars are meant to be driven.

With the Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet, Porsche has updated an icon, making it appealing enough to those who want a shiny new sports car while maintaining enough of its original body and soul. The 992 combines the best attributes of a sports car, a daily driver, and a grand tourer. You might as well enjoy every inch of its voluptuous glory.

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